


This Is Holiday: Your Informative, Indispensable, and COMPLETELY FREE Guide to the Monster Festival Season!

by paradoxpangolin



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Ableism, Autistic Chara, Autistic Frisk, Autistic Papyrus, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Eve, Christmas Party, Christmas Shopping, Gen, Halloween, Holidays, Houseplant Flowey, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, More tags to be added!, Parent W. D. Gaster, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Snow, background hints at papyton but don't read the whole fic for it, not huge but toriel knows that frisk and chara did not come from good places, read the whole fic for all the other good stuff!, santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-01-23 05:12:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12499524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradoxpangolin/pseuds/paradoxpangolin
Summary: It's only been a few months since monsterkind emerged from beneath Mt. Ebott, and uncertainty around them is still high in the city. That's why it's important to inform you that you might see a change in your local monster community in the coming months. Our longest festival season, Holiday, is almost upon us!Citizens have nothing to fear from this season, but many are still worried and wish to know more, so this informative, indispensable, and COMPLETELY FREE pamphlet has been assembled by our cultural experts. It contains all the information you'll need to know about our Holiday, so all residents of the city can celebrate peacefully with us!P.S. Did we mention it's COMPLETELY FREE????(Frisk and company, freshly surfaced, have a Holiday! The monster celebration spans the entire later part of the year, melding elements of Halloween, Christmas, Thanksgiving and more into one chaotic tumble of joy. Come watch this hectic and silly and loving and wonderful family's Holiday antics with me! I'll add tags as more characters appear.)





	1. Fallensnight

**Author's Note:**

> HEY whats up sometimes i think about what monster culture might be like and sometimes i get carried away!! ALSO I LOVE HOLIDAYS!! I have been in a christmas mood since September Guys Help Me. i have a whole huge network of headcanons for what winter holidays might look like, and i love it, but i haven't done anything with it until now! hope you enjoy this cute completely non-canon-based half-meta, half-ramble, half-slice-of-life-anime-but-also-holidays as much as i've enjoyed dreaming it up!
> 
> this is set in the same universe as my other undertale fic, Risen Up, or, Of Fallen Children and Mountain Kin, and takes place a few months before the story begins. you don't have to read RU to understand, but if you like this, you should check it out as it's kind of my magnum opus and my entire soul and im so proud of it. please. im so proud of i t
> 
> in this fic, as well as in RU, frisk and chara are autistic. however, I am not autistic myself, so please, if i make any mistakes, please point them out so i can learn from them! :>

**_Fallensnight_ **

_Monster society is filled to the brim with festivals and celebrations. Some parallel human holidays, like our celebration of life in your Spring, and our celebration of love in your February. Some are created from important historical events, and for some, the origins have been lost to time. By far the largest, however, is the two-month period at the end of the year known as Holiday!_

_Holiday begins on October 25th, the first day of a week-long observance known as Fallensnight. Fallensnight is a quiet, reflective time, to learn our history, mourn our dead, and recognize those who have come before us. All the lights in the Underground are magically shut off, leaving only electricity or our own magic for us to see by. The 25th is often spent at home, with friends or family, and work and school is canceled in recognition of this. Common traditions are telling stories, honoring the dead through their favorite items or food, and singing carols meant to comfort and help look forward to the future._

* * *

_“Sans!”_ Papyrus hisses.

“Hnrgh.” Sans rolls over and buries his face in the pillow. “Whrrgh.”

_“Sans,”_ Papyrus repeats, in his rough sorta-whisper. He can’t consciously whisper well, but he’s quieter than usual today. He pulls on the sleeve of Sans’s jacket. _“Sans. Wake up!”_

Sans blinks into the darkness, noticing the closed curtains and lack of light from downstairs, and realizes that if Papyrus hadn’t woken him up he would’ve slept through half the day. He drags himself upright and throws his feet off the side of the mattress. “Heya. G’mornin’, bro. How are ya – “ he pauses to yawn – “uh, how are you doing?”

_“I made breakfast,”_ Papyrus whispers. He’s sitting cross-legged by the mattress, not bouncing in place or anything, and his spine is kind of hunched. Sans can tell from his face and body language that he’s feeling more subdued than he does most mornings. That’s good, though, and the first emotion Sans is awake enough to feel is relief. He’s letting Sans see that he’s subdued.

They eat in the kitchen today, instead of out in the living room in front of the TV. Papyrus sits on the counter, and Sans leans against it. The lights in the apartment are all shut off, in an imitation of the darkness of the Underground, and the only illumination comes from softly glowing bones Papyrus scattered around. It’s calming, and nice. Like they’re the only two monsters in the world, and nothing will ever disturb this sense of peace. This will always be something that they can come back to, something they can share.

“Asgore told the people at the Embassy about Fallensnight,” Papyrus says, eyes fixed on his plate. “I have the day off, so don’t worry.”

“That’s good,” Sans says. He shifts his posture so he’s leaning against his brother’s leg.

Papyrus picks at his food. He’s not trying to be cheerful. Sans appreciates that; Sans knows how hard that is for him. He _is_ cheerful. Cheerful _is_ Papyrus. But no one can be cheerful all the time, even if they think they should be. If anyone else were over now, if anyone else were recognizing Fallensnight with them, he’d have that persona up. He’d be cheerful, and it’d even be close enough to genuine. But Sans knows firmly, and he thinks that somewhere Papyrus does too, that you have to let yourself be the real you once in a while. Even if the real you is really…well, sad. Besides, no one else knows where he and Sans came from. No one knows what they have to mourn.

The faint light of the bones falls over Papyrus’s face in sharp contrast, like the elaborate shadow puppets he likes to make on the wall. He finishes the last bite of his food, then scrapes the fork around the edges of his plate, picking up every last bit that he can. He always does this. He never wants to talk about it, the whole purpose of this day, so Sans starts the conversation. He always does this, too. Sans doesn’t mind. He…really likes talking about this sort of thing, actually. With his brother.

“When we were walking up to the Throne Room, before Frisk broke the barrier,” Sans begins. “I felt it then. Someone was watching us.”

Papyrus nods eagerly. “And when I was making my battle body for the costume party! It was definitely there then.

“Sometimes it happened when I was patrolling Snowdin around the Ruins door. Especially the time when the kid came out of it.”

“I felt it when I mastered the double-barreled special attack bone-splosion when I was training with Undyne. I knocked her down!”

They go back and forth in the dimly lit kitchen, as the glowing numbers on the microwave clock turn forwards into mid-morning. It’s hard for Sans to actually miss someone who’s only scraps at the edges of the hole in his memory, the one that takes up the first third or so of his life, but it’s different for Papyrus. He remembers more. Papyrus _misses_ him, like Sans only misses a feeling of safety and excitement and wholeness and home.

“It’s funny, but…” Papyrus laughs. “When Undyne was injured, and I had to take the guard reports up to Asgore. It was there when I got sick on the conveyor belt in Hotland.”

Sans snorts. “Which time?”

“Sans! It was only once! I’m not that much of a – “ 

He freezes. Sans finishes chewing, and when Papyrus still hasn’t started talking after that, he knocks his elbow against his brother’s knee. “Uh, bro?”

_“I remembered something,”_ Papyrus breathes.

“Oh wow, Pap, really? That’s huge, what – “

“I – I don’t, I can’t – it’s just a snapshot,” Papyrus says. “I was – we were, in the CORE, I think? I remember standing in front of a big panel of lights and buttons, and two hands, with big holes in their palms, showing me how to use it…” He swallows. “I remember, I was so excited to make a huge puzzle out of it…”

“Oh,” Sans breathes. “Ohh, wow, bro. That must feel amazing.” He says that, but something tugs down at his voice, a new lump in his throat. He pushes it down. Oh no, no no no, he’s not going to be jealous of this, this huge and precious moment for his brother. He isn’t.

“I think I was very small, so we must have been very young. I think…I think it might have been our first time…” He trails off, and Sans looks up to see tears dripping silently down his face.

The jealousy’s gone in an instant. Sans scrambles up onto the counter and pulls Papyrus into a hug. He squeezes as tight as he can, until his bones are almost shaking, and Papyrus is squeezing him back in a way that’ll probably bruise. He doesn’t care. Papyrus _misses_ who they’ve lost, and even though Fallensnight is the whole week long, this is the only day he lets himself feel that. How could Sans feel anything but love for his brother today, in the middle of all this sadness.

“Hey, hey, bro,” he says, kind of muffled because he’s saying it into Papyrus’s shirt. “I love you.”

_“Love you too, Sans,”_ comes the faint reply.

Sans’s smile becomes more genuine, and he tightens his hold as the world goes cold and empty around them. When Papyrus lets go, they’re sitting in the snow in front of their old house, in newly-abandoned Snowdin. The lights are still up, of course. The junk mail’s still in the box – wow, Papyrus was so mad about that when they left. The key’s still up in his room.

He goes and finds it, and the two of them spend the rest of the day in their workshop. They don’t speak to anyone else, and they don’t need to. They just spread the blueprints out on the floor, the old and indecipherable ones laid over their own years of notes, and work on the machine they’d left behind. Not out of a sense of hope for fixing it anymore, those days are long behind the both of them. It’s out of tradition. It’s what it means to them _now._


	2. Dustnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Far from its dismal name might suggest, Dustnight, the final celebration of Fallensnight, is a very joyful holiday. Though each day of Fallensnight has a minor individual meaning, such as storytelling or caroling, the overarching goal is that everyone will be happy by its end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's just pretend that this actually went up on halloween huh
> 
> in this universe, it's not long at all after the barrier broke, and most of the monsters live in one apartment building that the humans let them have mostly for free. it was abandoned and scheduled for demolition but They Are Magic, so now they're there. toriel and the Squad live on the top floors i think? i have a more concrete explanation in Risen Up!

_**Dustnight** _

_Far from its dismal name might suggest, Dustnight, the night of October 31st and the final celebration of Fallensnight, is a very joyful holiday. Though each day of Fallensnight has a minor individual meaning, such as storytelling or caroling, the overarching goal is that everyone will be happy by its end._

_Dustnight resembles the human holiday of Halloween in its practices, with children dressing up and going door to door in search of treats, but its meanings are closer to the human holiday Day of the Dead. There is an emphasis on death and the unknown, but children are taught not to be afraid of this, and to love it instead. Dustnight is not a holiday of fear, but a holiday of standing strong together and knowing who you are._

_Children are given sweets and small gifts as a symbol of kindness and community, and by dressing as those who have died, it is also a way to honor one’s predecessors. Much of this significance has been lost to time, however, and monster children generally see Dustnight as a night to go out for free candy and mischief. The lights of the Underground come back on the next morning, and those who choose to often hold a vigil through the night until Dustday, the first day of Holiday proper._

* * *

“Eeeeeuuughhh,” Flowey mumbles, twisting his stupid big head and pulling back his petals. He shoves his head forward in the papier-mache Venus flytrap until it sticks out a little bit, hears something rip, and freezes. The hands holding the flytrap in place let go, and he tips his head back and forth. It’s tight, but it probably won’t fall apart right away. They have an hour or two. He stretches his vines, crawling out of his extra-big pot just for tonight, and snarls up at Frisk. “Feed me, Seymour!” 

Frisk doesn’t respond, but a smile darts over their usually expressionless face and they let slip a soft, private laugh. They hold his gaze with their deep red eyes as they laugh, for just a few seconds, and it makes his whole being feel warm and not lonely. Chara’s never spoken to him, but he knows that Frisk can’t make eye contact, and doesn’t smile on their own. He thinks he’s the only one that knows they’re in there.

He turns around while Frisk changes into their costume, not really because they care but just because he wants to double-check that his head can move that much. It can, mostly. He still can’t really believe he’s doing this. Going out for candy and stuff on Dustnight is a thing that _kids_ do, it’s a holiday for _babies,_ and he is a _GOD!_ Surely he’d have outgrown this by now! But Frisk and, well, Chara in their own way, wouldn’t shut up about their costume and their friends’ costumes and how fun it would be and come onnnnnn Flowweeeeeeeeeeyy! And he said NO, I’m not a BABY. But then they’d snuck in to see a musical called _Little Shop of Horrors_ at the local human high school last week, and then he saw the evil man-eating plant and needed to emulate it _immediately._ And Frisk was happy, even though they had to stay up late making his costume because Flowey doesn’t have hands. And he thinks Chara was happy too.

He turns back around, and Frisk is wiggling on the floor, trying to fight their way either out of or into the big pink t-shirt that makes up the top half of their costume. Flowey watches the big yellow star on the front twist and distort as they wave their hand madly through the neck hole and punch at the inside. They’re going as the main character of an old human cartoon he’s seen a total of three episodes of, but he vaguely remembers Chara liking. Which kind of surprises him. It always looked really cheerful and bubblegummy, and they usually went for stuff with a darker element beneath the surface. Go for. They usually go for that stuff.

Eventually Frisk sorts themself out and emerges from the shirt with all their limbs through the right holes. It’s even facing the right way, which Flowey finds himself a little impressed by. _Clothes are hard when they’re not sweaters,_ Frisk signs to him, and picks themself up. _Candy time now!_

“You’re finally ready? C’mon, then!” He stretches into the air and snatches the old Dustnight sack from right in front of Frisk’s hands. “Let’s go rob people at bullet-point for the cheapest sugar they could find!”

Frisk grabs his pot and bounces around with it, their equivalent of a whoop of excitement. They bounce him down the hallway and into the kitchen and plop him on the table, where there’s already a bowl of candy, unattended and everything! He leans over the bowl, about to get as big a mouthful as he can in the most dignified possible way, when Papyrus bounds into the kitchen, followed by that obnoxious orange monster kid without a real name. _“FLOWEY!”_ Papyrus hollers, and Flowey spits out the candy and bolts upright. “What do you think of my costume!”

He twirls and poses so Flowey can get the full effect, showing off his costume from every single angle. It’s literally just a yellow-and-blue striped t-shirt with a red baseball cap, but Papyrus shows it off like it’s a masterpiece of craftmanship, obviously thrilled out of his mind. Flowey squints and pretends like he doesn’t know exactly what it is. “Is it some kid from a human video game? The one with the ironic name?”

“Yes! Precisely! Tonight I am not the great Papyrus, but the human Ness, from the human video game Earthbound!” Papyrus crows. “I thought surely I had shown you that before, Flowey! Sans was supposed to be a Starman, but I couldn’t convince him to come out with us tonight…” He huffs. “He says he’s going to stay at home and give out treats instead, but I hope he doesn’t just leave the bowl outside the door again. We only have so many bowls to get stolen, after all.”

“Booby-trap it?” Flowey suggests, shuffling a vine around in the bowl for the good candy.

Papyrus glances at Flowey, furrows his brow, and then his face lights up. “You know, my friend, I think you’re on to something!”

“That’s me,” Flowey giggles. “Fount of good ideas.”

“Papyrus, are you two all ready to go out? I have extra candy bags if you need them, as well as hot chocolate if you get cold,” Toriel calls to Papyrus and the kid, bustling through the kitchen and sweeping the bowl away from Flowey. “If you are, I believe I will head down to the front of the building to hand out candy at the door. Papyrus, thank you again for agreeing to watch the children tonight!”

“It’s my pleasure, your majesty! Don’t worry, we’ll be sure to stay in well-lit and populated areas, and use the buddy system to make sure no one gets lost, and light the way with magic so everyone can see us coming and going!” Papyrus recites. She’s only told all of them that about a thousand times, and hearing it AGAIN kind of makes Flowey want to gag. The monster kid, who he suddenly realizes is dressed like PAPYRUS of all things, apparently feels the same way, because they groan really loud at that. “Aw, c’mon, dude!” they whine to Papyrus, as soon as Toriel’s back is out the door. “How’re we supposed to have FUN with all those rules?”

Papyrus doesn’t answer, waiting until the door swings firmly closed behind Toriel. Then he grins. “I was _thinking,_ maybe, that we could…selectively remember them.”

“Really?! Aw, man!! You’re so COOL!!” the kid yells. Frisk squeaks and flaps madly, and Flowey can’t help the childish surge of excitement he feels as the four of them sweep out the door.

He always used to love Dustnight.

His parents taught him what it really meant, of course – how it’s a way to end Fallensnight by _celebrating_ those lost, and the past, and getting stronger as a community, blah blah blah blah blah. How it used to be about dressing up as dead people or things that scared you or other monsters, how the treats were to symbolize kindness or community or whatever. No other kid except Chara cared about anything but the candy, naturally, but he’d always felt that it was something more than that. The big lights, the magic lights that changed between night and day, weren’t on yet, but everyone’s houses were always blazing bright. The shadows on the cobblestones of New Home had to compete for space, and he’d always felt so much more alive and _monster-y._ Is that a word? He knows he felt it.

Dustnight took so long to get tired of.

They go down the building floor by floor, hall by hall. From Asgore they get multiple, full sized candy bars (holy crap!!!), from Undyne and Alphys handfuls of Japanese candy. The bowl is sitting half-empty outside of the skeletons’ apartment, and Papyrus grumbles when he sees it but does nothing. The Temmies all squeezed into one apartment for whatever stupid reason, and that’s a little terrifying to open the door to when Frisk was the one to ring the doorbell and they’re also holding your pot and you have no protection except a fragile man-eating plant head. The orange kid, who somehow LIVED near these monsters for their whole life, shouts at the four of them to wait and rings the doorbell again, and an entirely new group of Temmies come to the door and give them more stuff like it’s no problem. Delighted, they exploit that loophole for a while. Only about 50% of what the Temmies give them is candy, or edible, but by the sixth time Flowey’s laughing harder than he has in months.

Frisk distracts Toriel so they can sneak out the doors to the human neighborhoods, Flowey’s pot securely held under Papyrus’s arm. Frisk and the kid manage to make friends with some other monsters who are out, and even some human kids out on their own costume holiday, those ones all with no parent in sight. He’s only a little bit surprised. Chara always told him that adult humans were worse than regular ones. The human kids show them all the good houses, and the shops and corner stores giving out free candy, just like in the Underground. When they stop for a break, he gets too frustrated with the wrappings on a candy and just eats the whole thing, plastic and all, before he realizes what he’s done. It’s mortifying. But only for a little bit.

By the end of the night, Flowey is full of candy and maybe more plastic, and Chara has given up trying to hide their smiling. Papyrus carries the monster kid, who had a hardcore sugar crash a few streets back, although he’s definitely on the verge of exhaustion himself. Flowey’s Audrey head cracked a while ago and dangles brokenly around his stem, but his Dustnight sack is bulky enough that Frisk is top-heavy with their combined weight. It’s only then, walking back to the apartment building in sleepy, contented silence, does he consciously realize it for the first time.

This wasn’t boring. He wasn’t bored. This was _fun._

He’s having _fun._ He knows what it feels like – he remembers trailing Frisk through the Underground and grinning, and how fun being the six-souled embodiment of COSMIC TERROR was. He knew that he still could. He didn’t ever know if he still _would._

But now. Now things are changing, and things are new. He doesn’t know every word of every story anymore. He doesn’t know because they, both they-Chara-Frisk and they-all-of-everyone, are _writing it_ right now. He’s not apathetic to everything anymore. And he can have FUN!

Aw man, he realizes in a rush, he’s glad Frisk fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed the chapter! next one will be more winter-based, but not sure when it'll go up. mostly im thinking right now at this moment about going to bed
> 
> remember if you tell me what you think i'll love you forever!!! :D


	3. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As with humans and their winter holidays, decorating our homes is an important part of the celebrations! Most of our decorations are based off of human holiday decorations that have fallen through the dump, but almost all of them have had their meanings shuffled around to fit the holiday. Colored lights are draped on every home to show the light of who we are, and flowers and stars are used to show the light and the hope of the Underground!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this took longer than anticipated. my creative confidence has kind of...tanked...lately. creative writing classes aren't supposed to do that to you, are they? they probably are, kind of, but it's been hard to get myself out of this "you know NOTHING and are a BABY who is SUCKY at MAKING THINGS WITH WORDS" mindset and i really only got that spark back tonight...we'll see how long it lasts :/ 
> 
> this chapter is nice and long though!! did not mean for it to be that long. i think it's a good thing here, though. :D

_**Preparations** _

_As with humans and their winter holidays, decorating our homes is an important part of the celebrations! Most of our decorations are based off of human holiday decorations that have fallen through the dump, but almost all of them have had their meanings shuffled around to fit the holiday. Colored lights are draped on every home to show the light of who we are, and flowers and stars are used to show the light and the hope of the Underground!_

_Much like humans’ secular Christmas (or as near as we have been able to figure out), Holiday has taken on a life of its own outside of meaning. Holiday, especially this part of Holiday right after Dustnight, is for celebration of peace, love, joy, and community. It’s a little sad, like all monster celebrations are, as we were Underground and we had survived another year, but that’s not the most important part of it. If you asked any monster child, though, they’d surely just tell you it’s an excuse to make the house look pretty and to be excited for presents!_

* * *

When she first opens the curtains in the morning, the glass is cold as ice and a shock to her fingertips. She wipes the fog around the edges and the bottom, and finds delicate, intimately detailed frost patterns beneath it. From the broad windows of the top floor apartment, the vista of the city is huge and sparkling – and covered now by no less than two feet of soft, fluffy snow, all of which had to have fallen in the night. Such an amount would not affect business as usual in Snowdin, but she sees that there are close to no cars on the roads, and barely anyone out walking. It’s a sure sign in the human world that things have slowed nearly to a halt.

“Oh, dear…” Toriel murmurs. It’s a Friday, but school must be canceled, or she’d certainly see buses on the streets, and she is glad she does not have to worry about students slipping and falling. Not that it must be much better, being likely trapped inside…Still, the sight of all that snow stirs something inside of her. She’s smiling, before she realizes it. There’s so very _much,_ and it’s like nothing she’s seen in a long, long time. It never failed to take her breath away then, and it does so much more than that now.

She goes to slide the curtain back across the window, to keep out the chill, but she can’t quite bring herself to do it. It’s been far too long since she’s felt this soft, quiet, yawning joy. Instead, she ties the curtain back and resolves to turn the heating up a notch to compensate. Just for today, she’ll leave the heating bill to its own devices. In the kitchen, waiting for the water for tea to boil, she goes around the apartment and draws all the curtains, leaving the lights off. The winter sunlight glitters through the frost in the windowpanes, falling on the furniture and the walls white and clear and still. It bounces off the dust motes swirling through the air and the steam rising lazily above the boiling water, and she pours her tea and takes it to stand by the window. Frisk is still sleeping, so she’s careful to step lightly, around the places where the floors already creak. 

The embassy is easy enough to get to from here, so Papyrus, Asgore, and Undyne will all be there at work, but Fridays are her day off to stay home with Frisk. Alphys works from home, and Sans will probably call in “sick” to stay at home and sleep, if what she’s learned from living near him is any indication. She makes a mental note to bring them both something warm today, but other than that, it looks like she, Frisk and Flowey will have the day to themselves.

For the first time, a frown creases her brow. They have always been very lively children, exploring the city and playing outside when Frisk isn’t working on their homeschooling. What on Earth will they think of to entertain themselves at home all day, short of making inevitable mischief…? They could cook together, perhaps, or make some crafts. Frisk would enjoy extended time for sensory play, even if it bored Flowey, and perhaps they could be allowed outside if sufficiently bundled up…She blows on her tea and her gaze drifts to the calendar on the wall, where this month’s picture shows a mid-Holiday Snowdin in all its glow and finery. Her eyes light up, and she beams into her tea. Of course! Of course, how could she have forgotten? Dustnight has passed, and Holiday proper has begun! It’s a travesty that they’ve let the house go undecorated this long!

She is tempted to rush off and wake the children immediately, so strong is her excitement, but she restrains herself to dancing away from the counter and humming a Holiday tune. The Ruins celebrated Holiday, of course, in its own quaint way, with glowing magical lights in the marketplaces and red vines twining among the green. But she never returned the monsters’ cheery greetings when they called to her, and she always holed herself up in her home during the most rambunctious celebrations. She couldn’t see the lights without Asriel by her side, always marveling like he’d never seen them before, and she couldn’t smell the Holiday flowers without Chara wandering among the blossoms too, content to stroke the petals for hours. But now, now Frisk is here, and things are different, and all of their wildest dreams have come true. Now, at long last, maybe Holiday can become a _celebration_ again. 

She pads into Frisk’s room at her customary time, careful not to let the door creak. Flowey’s pot is perched on Frisk’s windowsill, and he’s faced away from her, gazing out at the snow. The lines of bitterness are gone from around his eyes, and his mouth is slightly open. His petals are impossibly still.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Toriel murmurs, not expecting an answer.

He twitches, glances at her, and glances away, hunching down to look at the floor. “I guess,” he whispers. Toriel is taken aback, but she smiles at him warmly, even though he’s trying hard not to look at her. Flowey only appeared in their home a few weeks before Fallensnight, after Frisk had disappeared for a day and returned at sundown with his fragile root system crammed into their backpack. She knows him as the strange, sulking creature she’d seen lurking around the Ruins, and later the mysterious being who had nearly taken every soul in the Underground, but now he’s here and he refuses to leave Frisk’s side. She doesn’t know much more than that, but she is careful not to press either of them for more. If they trust her enough, they will explain. If they do not, then she still has work to do, even as knowing this breaks her heart.

Of course she burns with worry for him, and no small amount of curiosity, but most of all, he makes her feel sad. It’s a bittersweet sadness, familiar in a way she can’t quite place, almost the same sadness she feels sometimes for Frisk. Old souls. They’re old souls in young bodies, and linked in a way has never seen. She can be their mother, support and love them in all the ways that she can, but there are things Frisk and Flowey understand about each other that she never will.

She goes to wake Frisk, turning on their bedside lamp and gently shaking the headboard. Frisk cannot tolerate sudden touch unless they initiate it themself, and rarely wakes up when their name is called, so she must find ways to compensate. Frisk stirs, snuffling and curling their legs up to their chest before stretching out and blinking awake.

“Good morning, my child,” says Toriel softly, smiling down at them. They sit up and lean against her, their face in her dress, their version of a sleepy greeting. Soon enough their arms come up to squeeze her in their morning hug. She hugs them until they pull away, rubbing at their eyes, and returns to breakfast in the kitchen. 

She decides to break her idea to the children over their meal, sitting down across from them and their healthy bowls of cereal. Flowey picks at his, mumbling about how him eating grains is probably like cannibalism (though it never seems to stop him from eating sugar), but Frisk shovels it into their mouth with a singular determination. Toriel, never liking to watch them eat, focuses on her tea. It reminds her too much of how Chara would hoard food in their room for months after they fell. She pushes that thought out of her mind, and when they come up for air she remembers what today looks like, instead.

“Frisk, Flowey,” she begins, and after a moment Frisk looks up. They don’t look at her, their eyes focused out the window behind her, but she knows that they’re listening. “I’m afraid the weather rather stands in the way of any outside activities today,” she says. “But I have an idea as to what we might do instead. Would you – “ She breaks off, remembering that this is their very first Holiday as a family, after all. “Frisk, it is a tradition in monster families to put up decorations house at the beginning of Holiday, and somehow we haven’t quite gotten around to it yet. I was thinking, if you wanted to, we could work on that before beginning your lessons! Many of our traditions come from humans originally, so there may be some parallels with holidays you’ve celebrated. Are there – “

Frisk had gone very still when Toriel began to speak, but now they gasp and bolt upright as if they’ve remembered something wonderful, slamming into the back of their chair. Toriel winces and Flowey coughs on his cereal, but the noise is overshadowed by Frisk smacking their palms delightedly on the table. They leap up from their seat, unable to sit still, and their hands take to the air with flapping as they hop and spin and squeal. Their enthusiasm is contagious, and Toriel beams with delight. “Well!” she exclaims, and has the foresight to place her tea on the table so it won’t be knocked over. “I’ll take that as a yes!”

Frisk races around the table and collides with her, hugging her tight, and she holds them up as they stomp and jump in place. They let go and run back around the table and crash back into her, pulling her into their spinning. She laughs and combs through their hair, which they lean into for a few seconds before springing away. _Now now now??_ they sign, motions sloppy and rushed. _Now now now now now!?!?_

“I’d like for us to finish breakfast first,” Toriel says, “and I think it would be best for both of us for you to finish your morning routine. We’ll begin after you’ve eaten, gotten dressed, and brushed your teeth, alright?”

_Okay okay okay!!_ They wave the sign at her and twirl back to their place, where Flowey watches with detached amusement. To their credit, they do _try_ to sit back down, but they’re too excited and they can only make it a few minutes before they stand up, scooting the chair back and rocking and hopping in place as they eat. Toriel can’t stop smiling, even as it takes them the better part of half an hour to finish, distracted as they are. They keep looking up at her, or the snow, or Flowey, who is trying to pretend he’s not excited too, and flapping their arms or rapping their spoon on the table instead of using it to eat.

Eventually they manage to finish, even if it’s long after Flowey has retreated to his living room pot and Toriel’s tea has gone cold. While Frisk crashes around in their room getting ready, Toriel decides to get a head start on sorting out where in all their still-unpacked boxes the Holiday decorations might be. She frowns, hands on her hips, glaring at the precarious towers of boxes that still line the walls of the living room and the entryway. She’s still getting settled in, after only a few months on the surface, and the apartment is smaller than her old home. Smaller, but in a way that she likes – it feels far more appropriately sized for two. Now surely…She shifts the piles of boxes, stretching on her tiptoes to look for labels. Surely before she’d left the movers had thought to label the boxes? Even just with a marker scrawled on the cardboard?

“Third one up over here,” calls Flowey from behind her, tapping a box with his vine. “The one that says ‘Flower’s Organic Applesauce, 10 Jars’ on it.”

“Oh!” Toriel exclaims with a surge of warmth, bustling over to him. “Thank you, Flowey! I have no idea how you remembered that!”

“Did you really need all ten? Seems like a waste to me,” he snorts. “And what does organic even _mean?_ Made with real Vegetoid, or something?”

“Hush, child. It’s one of the only ways Frisk will eat fruit, and it’s far better for you than those withered old crab apples,” Toriel says, hefting up the stack of boxes with one hand and pulling the applesauce box out with the other. “Frisk should be about ready by now, don’t you think? Would you be a dear and put on the monster radio? The Holiday stations are – “

“Channel twelve and channel thirty-one, I know,” Flowey grumbles, dragging Toriel’s old radio player off the windowsill and fiddling with the buttons. A cheery Holiday tune comes bouncing out of the speakers, and Flowey cackles with delight, just as Frisk charges out from the bathroom and up to the two of them. They hop over to Toriel, hands fluttering and looking from her to the box to Flowey down to the box again, until Toriel slices through the tape with a claw and they all dive in.

From there on out, it’s nothing but a joyful blur. Frisk turns the music up, so it fills up their dulled senses, and stomps and dances to the beat. It’s louder than Toriel is used to, but the old carols don’t change. She remembers Asriel chasing Chara wrapped in strings of tinsel, lifting Chara up to put the star on the tree, to these songs, and it’s almost like nothing’s changed at all.

Frisk burrows through the box and dashes through the apartment like a mad thing, climbing on the counters to hang tinsel over the sink and papering the windows haphazardly with snowflakes. They unearth the ornaments with a delighted shriek, and Toriel tries to explain how they’ll get a tree for those later, but they rush off to hang them on the lamps and the ceiling fan and other high places they shouldn’t be able to reach. If they take a few of the sparkly ones to hide in their room and stare at, of course she makes no move to stop them. She is impressed with how jovial Flowey is about the whole thing, shouting out increasingly ridiculous places for Frisk to place things and not trying unreasonably much to break things. Frisk clambers onto the fireplace and succeeds in smacking a star right over the face of the painting hanging over it, and Flowey doubles over in laughter. 

Toriel’s domain has always been the delicate things, spun sugar and frosted glass trinkets that are very pretty but must go up high. She deftly whisks those out from under Frisk’s nose and places them where surely the children won’t be able to climb. Frisk races around her with their arms always full, overjoyed and enthralled by their decorating mission. Some of the decorations, like the little paper angels, are more thrown than placed, but others, like the wonderful mosaic of twinkling stars and the jumbled human “nativity” sets repurposed to tell monster stories, they set up with a care that reminds Toriel of Chara. They even, she notices with a small jolt, seem to put things in the same places Chara always did. The big set goes over the fireplace, the dried flowers hang in the hall. They take the same small set to keep in their room, the one that fits into itself like a nesting doll.

The three of them place baubles and flowers in the bathroom, switch out the dishtowels for the more festive ones at the bottom of the box. Frisk lifts Flowey up so he can put the glowing stars on the ceiling, and watches fascinated as Toriel lights the harmless candles on the table. They don’t have a roof to string lights on, but make do by placing them in all the windows. She sings along to the carols as Frisk dances, and Flowey sometimes joins in with inappropriate versions of the lyrics. 

Soon, too soon and after what feels like hours, the box is empty. She knows it’s empty because Frisk looks in it, then picks it up and kicks it in frustration, and nothing comes flying out. They kick the box around the living room, enjoying the sensation, as Toriel sighs and looks around at what they’ve created.

She feels light, like she could float, like she could hug Frisk and Flowey and spin them around for hours. When was the last time she was this excited? When was the last time she was this _happy?_ For the first time, a child has returned to her, and they intend to stay. Fallensnight and its period of mourning her children, everything she’s lost, are in the past for today. The barrier is broken, the snow has fallen, there are children in her home, and they are _free!_

It isn’t perfect. Nothing will ever be perfect, and that’s all she can hope for. But right now – right now – goodness, she’s tearing up. She sniffs and surreptitiously wipes her eyes. Right now, she cannot believe how incredibly blessed she has been.

Her reverie is interrupted by a muffled screech, and she whirls around to see an oddly grinning Frisk dropping the box over Flowey’s pot. His vines snake out and he throws the box up at them, colliding with their head with a _thump_ and knocking them down. Toriel rushes over to separate her squabbling children, but she can’t stop smiling even as she does. She wouldn’t trade this for the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoping hoping hoping for the next one to go up in the next few weeks? late nov/early dec maybe? there's a timeline but it's pretty vague except for like the last week of the year.
> 
> and uh, hey, like i said above, i've been feeling kind of...really...discouraged in my work lately, and it's making it really hard to write. :< i'm not going to stop, i know this is just a slump, but i still...uuughhh, i feel bad. it would mean the world to me if you left encouraging comments, or what you liked or noticed about the story, or anything at all really. no pressure at all, you don't have to, but i could really use the feedback right now :>


	4. Festivities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Holiday is a time for play, with even adults chasing each other through the streets or staging mock battles and pantomimes. Popular activities include playing in Snowdin’s woods, swimming in Waterfall, or leaping through Hotland on its steam vents. After Fallensnight, we were done mourning our plight for the year, and appreciating what was wonderful about what we had was the most important part. Of course, such plain and simple reasoning has been mostly lost to the ages, and this excitement remains a product of the season. With so much more to be excited for this year, we will have to see how all of us experience our joy!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow hello guys hello!! what's up!! i certainly have meant to update this more before now, but then finals happened and the end of the semester and all that. we haven't even had any snow where i am, but that's not going to stop me from writing about it! enjoy some nerds. :>

**_Festivities_ **

_It seems that monsters can find immense joy in almost everything during Holiday, no matter how mundane it may look. And with a whole new world to explore, you may well see us displaying this excitement face to face! It is nothing to be embarrassed or concerned about. In fact, we’d be delighted if you were to join in! It’s been said that it’s impossible to be too cynical around other monsters during Holiday, and this effect may just rub off on you._

_Holiday is a time for play, with even adults chasing each other through the streets or staging mock battles and pantomimes. Popular activities include playing in Snowdin’s woods, swimming in Waterfall, or leaping through Hotland on its steam vents. After Fallensnight, we were done mourning our plight for the year, and appreciating what was wonderful about what we had was the most important part. Of course, such plain and simple reasoning has been mostly lost to the ages, and this excitement remains a product of the season. With so much more to be excited for this year, we will have to see how all of us experience our joy!_

* * *

Papyrus bounds through the woods in the snow, kicking up drifts and crashing through pine branches. He’s carrying his BRAND NEW FANCY SLED he just got yesterday over his shoulder, red and black with some SICK FLAME DECALS, and it bumps against his back as he spins around to shout at the rest of them. “Come on, come on!!” he calls. “It’s just on the other side of this hill, come on!!”

Undyne grins and races forward, pulling Alphys on the “sled” behind her. Papyrus might have shelled out for a brand new fancy sled, but she’s been skidding down Waterfall’s muddy slopes on trash can lids since she was a kid and she knows it’s the FASTEST. She heaves the rope tied to the lid up over her shoulder, and Alphys squeaks as it jerks forward. “Hold on, hold on!” she calls to Papyrus. “We’re not all as light as you are, y’know!” 

Papyrus found her some thick pants and fleecy socks in his dresser before they left, but it’s still BEYOND weird plowing through the snow with so much of your skin covered up. At least she’s not like Alphys, who’s basically a sphere with all the layers she’s bundled up in, because she’s a lizard and gets cold easy for some sciencey reason. It’s a weird experience, having actual fabric around so much of you instead of like water or armor like a reasonable monster, but ANYTHING is better than being COLD. The skeleton bros are never gonna understand how lucky they are not to have skin.

“Heya,” calls a voice from above her, and Undyne runs right into a pair of pink-slippered feet. She yelps and looks up, where Sans is grinning down at her from the tree. “Think you’re fallin’ behind. Hate to leave you two _adrift.”_

_“Oh, SHUT UP!”_ she hollers back, and starts running so she can’t hear Alphys snorting at Sans’s pun. Papyrus dragged him along on this adventure and he’s SUPPOSED to be out getting some EXERCISE or something, but she keeps thinking they lost him, because her legs are way longer than his and she keeps passing him. Only then he always pops out from behind a tree or something, just when she’s thinking about telling Papyrus. She passes Papyrus and punches his shoulder pad. “Hey, race you to the top!”

Papyrus ricochets a bit and shoots ahead. “Certainly! You are ON!” he shouts, over a disembodied Sans groan and Alphys muttering something like “g-god why,” and then they’re racing through the snow and around the trees and Alphys is bumping along behind her but she’s not even slowing her down! 

Papyrus has been talking about this sledding spot that he found for DAYS, up by the mountain and just a little ways off Undyne’s jogging path. He says it’s even steeper than the hills in the Snowdin forest the rowdy teens like to be rowdy on, and even bigger than Waterfall’s purple beaches sloping down to the bay, and they both feel the same about Hotland so you can FORGET about any comparisons to that place, and and and – oh MAN! She charges past Papyrus, spraying him with a shower of snow, and skids to a stop at the top of the hill. Behind her, Alphys mumbles something and rolls gently off the sled.

“Ohh, wowww,” she breathes, pulling the lid up into her arms. Ebott Plain is spread out before her, dipping into a deep, wide bowl flanked with trees on all sides. The snow, untouched except for the footprints of wildlife and what she suspects was an excited Papyrus, glints stunningly in the sun. The trees on the other side are small enough she can see over them to the whole forest, and in the distance the towers of the city sparkle and shine. The sky is huge, and the horizon is out there, and it’s almost like when she would sit on the highest cliffs in Waterfall and stare all the way over Hotland to the castle. She doesn’t use this phrase lightly, but wow, it takes her breath away. It’s _beautiful._

Then she screams and launches down the hill.

Snow flies in her face and the wind whips her hair back from her eye, and the woods blur around her as she shrieks over bumps and ice patches to the bottom of the bowl. She’s cackling like a little kid when she slides to a stop, face numb and teeth freezing and hat flown off somewhere on the way. She giggles, exhilarated, and rolls onto her back, then pumps her fists in the air and whoops. There’s a huge SWISH and Papyrus zooms past her, throwing snow in her mouth, and she stumbles up to chase after him as he slides to a stop. He stands up and she tackles him into the snow, rolling around until he struggles free of her grip. “The Great Papyrus has won for distance!” he cheers. 

“Okay, but I won for speed, right? Right?! Did you SEE that?!” Undyne howls, throwing her arms in the air. “That was AWESOME!! That was BEYOND awesome! That was KICKASS, did you SEE that?!?”

“Ha! Yes! I would certainly agree that it was kickass!” Papyrus leaps to his feet and reaches out a hand, then pulls her up when she grabs it. “I especially appreciated the part where you hit that bump and went several inches in the air, and yet did not fall off!”

“It was touch and go for a bit there. Did you just not hit it, then?” 

“No, I did not!” Papyrus replies, puffing out his chest proudly. “I can _steer.”_

“Aww, man, that’s cheating!” Undyne fishes the rope out of the snow and picks up the pace, so she’s jogging back up the hill. “Race you up to the top!”

They run back together, up to where Sans and Alphys are watching them, sitting on a lumpy and pathetic mound of snow. Undyne snorts but flops down onto it anyway, not even surprised when she falls right through. She’d know Sans’s shoddy craftmanship anywhere. “Hey, Al,” she calls up into the air. “You want a turn?”

Alphys leans over so she’s looking down at Undyne and pulls her scarf down from around her mouth. “I’m f-fine up here, uh, a-act-actually. It seems very, uh, very much, not really safe? I mean, you, uh, I saw you definitely go in the air a couple times.”

Undyne stares up at Alphys incredulously, before launching up and almost headbutting her in the face. “ALPHYS! You’re around weird experimental magic and tech all the time! Since when have you been too scared about safety?!” she demands. “I know you still got the magic burn scars from the time with the lava thing!”

“CORE-based magma recycler, y-yeah,” Alphys mumbles. She smirks and pokes Undyne in the forehead. “I-I’ll do it if I c-can, uh, sit in your lap.”

“You got yourself a deal!” Undyne beams. 

For the rest of the afternoon they fling themselves down the hill, sometimes waiting to take turns and sometimes tackling the person just taking off and yelling as they’re dragged along. Sans wins for First One To Fall Off A Sled, after Undyne’s trash can lid somehow started SPINNING with him on it and he got flung into a snowdrift and had to be pulled out. Papyrus finds that if you go from one specific angle you can hit the woods, like an obstacle course, if you have a fancy cheater sled that steers like his does. Undyne gets the great idea of stealing it and trying the woods herself, cackling every time as Papyrus chases after her, with mixed results. Mostly they only run into trees once or twice. They have races, then team races, then somehow they’re playing chicken, then SOMEHOW Sans nails Alphys with a giant snowball and she shrieks and falls off Undyne’s shoulders, overbalancing Undyne and bringing her down with her.

Undyne scrambles up and tears after the skeletons, giggling as they sprint away at full speed. “Oh, it’s ON now, you little shits!” She scoops up as big a snowball as she can get and hurls it with perfect accuracy at Papyrus’s head and he goes down, because she didn’t become captain of the guard for nothing. Sans lands on his feet, somehow, miraculously, and his eyes are dark but he’s grinning in the way that means he’s not all the way serious. 

Undyne whirls around and falls back to the front lines and her girlfriend. “Alphys!” she pants. “This is warfare! We gotta – oh.” 

“W-way ahead of you, Undyne,” Alphys smiles, and Undyne leaps over the short little wall she’s already made to help with their fort.

Papyrus starts the barrage, and after that it’s a full-on battle, with snowballs and attacks and maybe rocks (Undyne gets kinda carried away) flying through the air. Snowballs miraculously land right down Undyne’s shirt and do stupid things like RICOCHET off trees, but Alphys knows things about aerodynamics and Undyne’s pretty sure her throwing arm can reach Mach 1 so they hold their own. It’s still a completely unfair fight, though, because both these nerds grew up in Snowdin or something and also they can do WEIRD THINGS?? WITH SPACETIME?? And she has to protect Alphys too!! So it’s not her fault that they end up sucking, and losing, badly.

“W-we’re sucking,” Alphys admits, as they huddle behind the walls to discuss strategy while the brothers pause to refill their stockpile. “A-and losing. Badly.”

“Don’t say that!” Undyne protests. It’s one thing to admit defeat in her own head, but for her girlfriend to say it out loud?! UNACCEPTABLE! “We’re only losing until I whip out my SPECIAL ATTACK!”

Alphys frowns. “Sp-special attack? I d-don’t remember you, uh, you ever having a spe – “

“No yeah I definitely just made it up.” 

“O-oh.” Alphys looks surprised, then giggles. “What exactly does it, uh, does it…do? Your special attack.”

“I’m gonna storm the castle. Cover me,” Undyne grins hugely, then leaps out into the fray. 

She races up to the brothers’ fort and kicks through a wall, or she WOULD but damn packed snow is harder than she remembered. She settles for vaulting over it and into the stronghold itself, cackling as she scoops up one brother in each hand and plunges them headfirst in the snowdrift outside. Sans just sort of gives up with his legs pointing out at a jaunty angle, but Papyrus springs out with an outraged squawk and smashes a handful of snow in her face. She stumbles back, yanking Papyrus with her, and they do battle until it’s more about wrestling and trading attacks than it ever was about snowballs. They fight and frolic until the snow knocks off the tree branches and Sans falls asleep in the drift, until Alphys gets the shivers and Papyrus remembers that he brought hot cocoa for everyone. The sun is going down when they’re all finished, breathing hard and collapsed in a pile on Sans’s pathetic snow mound, but it’s not even late because the surface is weird. 

“Aw, man,” Undyne realizes, when they’ve all caught their breath enough to think about the future. “We gotta walk _all_ the way back to the city after this.”

Beside her, Alphys groans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the schedule hopefully is to do a chapter a day until the 21st, where the schedule will switch up a little bit, but all chapters will be up in the next few weeks with chapter 10 going up on new year's eve! now i've said that in words, so i have to stick to it. hope you enjoyed, and you can appreciate the snow, even vicariously like me :'>


	5. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Shopping among monsterkind is an excellent way to experience Holiday in all of its glory! Music plays from every street corner and shop, and magical lights and decorations flicker in the air. Although most monsters will probably shop Underground or make their gifts this year, there will be a small market set up in the newly established “monster” part of town, and we invite you to come by and experience it for yourself!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY I DID IT I'M ON SCHEDULE!! this one is even gayer than the last one >:3

**_Gifts_ **

_The culmination of Holiday is the twelve-day Festival of Souls, beginning on the 21st of December and extending to the first day of the new year. One of our most important traditions is the making of gifts for each other! Gifts can be small or large, material or immaterial. Some families and friends give small gifts each day of the Festival, some opt for larger gifts spread throughout. Holiday is the busiest time in the monster economy, but no one need worry about covering all their necessary expenses. Our society is well prepared to care for all of its citizens, and necessities are provided for free, which helps to avoid some of the more unfortunate situations we have witnessed among humans in this city._

_Shopping among monsterkind is an excellent way to experience Holiday in all of its glory! Music plays from every street corner and shop, and magical lights and decorations flicker in the air. Although most monsters will probably shop Underground or make their gifts this year, there will be a small market set up in the newly established “monster” part of town, and we invite you to come by and see it for yourself!_

* * *

_“Just hear those sleigh bells jingling,_   
_ring-ting-tingling too!_  
 _Come on, it’s lovely weather for_  
 _a sleigh ride together with you!_  
 _Outside the snow is falling, and_  
 _friends are calling – “_

_“Yoo-HOO!”_ Undyne hollers at the top of her lungs, startling a gaggle of nearby shoppers and making Alphys jump.

“I d-don’t understand why you’re so excited about these f-fancy human Holiday songs on the mall radio,” Alphys grumps, stumbling in her attempt to keep up with Undyne’s long legs. “I d-don’t know what h-half those things are, and I’m, uh, s-s’posed to be the expert.”

“I just think it’s fun! Like, isn’t it so weird that they turned our tune for _Underground Runaround_ into something like a ‘one-horse open sleigh?’ What’s a horse, even?” Undyne laughs, almost skipping as she pulls Alphys through the mall, even though Alphys is actually the one who is here to actually do her actual shopping because she messed up again and forgot about Holiday being a thing until right now. She’s only got a few days until the Festival of Souls starts for real, and then she has to worry about people _liking_ her gifts and not just _getting_ them. So she appreciates the speed, she does, but her legs are only so long. Which means not long at all, really.

The existing monster infrastructure on the surface isn’t quite, uh, structured enough yet to support the entire Holiday economy, so malls and shops in New Home have stayed open through the season, even if the bus ride here takes like an hour. Plus the currency exchange rate is incredibly confusing always, even though she’s supposed to be helping design it. 

“Who’s first on your list? Did you have any ideas?” Undyne asks. Oh, good, at least one of them is kind of on top of things. Alphys is _really really bad_ at gifts, is the thing (even though the one she got for Undyne is _perfect_ ), and that’s why they’re on this adventure together. Also, it’s because they’re gay. That’s an important part.

“Uhh, let me see…” Alphys tries to check her list, but it’s crumpled up in her hand against the cup of coffee she’s increasingly regretting purchasing cause it makes her anxious and is indecipherable. The list. That’s what’s indecipherable. She would reach out to straighten it out, but Undyne is holding her other hand in a very firm and warm grip, and she doesn’t quite want to fix the situation enough to let go. “I, uh. Probably, uhh.” She gives up and chooses a name at random. “P…papyrus?”

“Oh, sweet! He’s the easiest to shop for, dude. He’s such a nerd.” She gestures to a toy store across the way with her coffee, sloshing some out onto her hand. Alphys winces, but she doesn’t even react except to shake it off. “In here would be perfect, I bet. Can you imagine his face in this place?! Tons of puzzles!”

“But, uh, Undyne, d-didn’t you already get him a p-puzzle?” Alphys asks, trying to keep her coffee and list and whole life stabilized as Undyne pulls her into the store. “Wouldn’t it be kinda, uh, k-kinda embarrassing to – to get him the same th-thing?”

“Oh, no way, trust me,” Undyne grins. “He’s never gonna get tired of puzzles. That’s just a Papyrus thing. And besides, I didn’t really get him _just_ a puzzle. It’s like a do-it-yourself kit for recreating famous wartime puzzles with modern resources, he’s gonna lose his SHIT!”

Alphys cringes. “I s-see your point, but maybe, could we try to not yell swear words in the middle of a, uh, crowded m-mall?”

“Party pooper,” Undyne sighs. But she helps Alphys pick out a ridiculously complicated 3D puzzle from the top shelf of the Advanced Puzzle-Makers section, that’s supposed to set up into a Holiday tree. He’ll like that, right? Won’t he? Right, of course he will.

And if there’s Papyrus, you can’t forget – oh. Oh, oh boy, Alphys snorts to herself. She’s wondered what to get Sans for a while, what’s on that perfect border between genuine and obnoxious, and she thinks she’s finally got it. “I’m g-gonna get a thing for Sans, I think, while I’m h-here,” she announces, and burrows away into the crowd. There’s a chunky, simple-looking puzzle box on the lowest shelf in the Advanced Puzzle-Makers section, which means it’s either been sorted wrong or it’s the most frustrating puzzle to ever grace monsterkind. Either way, perfect. _Just the perfect size for a crappy anime figurine or something,_ she thinks, tossing it up and failing to catch it because then Undyne pops out of the crowd at her and it falls on her nose instead.

“There you are! Thought I lost ya.” Undyne picks up the puzzle box and hands it to her. “We gotta stick together, Al. You’re two whole feet shorter than me, you could get stepped on or something.”

“Sh-shut up,” Alphys snickers. 

Alphys’s anxiety levels slowly decrease to normal as they keep shopping, thank GOD, as she realizes like she does every year that maybe Holiday isn’t as stressful and huge as she keeps making it out to be. They pick up chocolate for Frisk and mindblastingly sour candy for Flowey in the candy shop (Alphys has vowed to always get Flowey presents as nice as she can, as a sort of apology for, well, for everything), as well as a bunch of phone charms and keychains that she has to admit she likes more than she thinks Frisk will. Their phone’s way too decorated to fit in their pocket already anyway, this isn’t going to make or break it. She’s working on a systems upgrade for Mettaton, which he actually does _need_ but she’s been slacking on developing it so she’s going to disguise it as a friendly and generous gift.

Undyne helps her out a bit with Asgore’s present, because she keeps worrying about accidentally sending him romantically coded things, because her crush on him is still huge and Undyne teases her about it incessantly, and she does NOT need to deal with that awkwardness right now or ever. She ends up with a book of Underground nature photography, which she thinks he’ll appreciate, and she can’t think of any other meaning that that could possibly convey. Only then they get a little stuck on the last monster on the list, who’s the last monster on the list because they’ve been avoiding discussing her because neither of them really _know_ her, like at all.

“I mean,” Undyne says, standing in front of a stall of clothes labeled _Fit for a Queen._ “She’s like, a _mom,_ right? From what I get from Frisk, I think that’s like her dominant personality trait.”

Alphys closes out of the (incredibly unsuccessful) internet search for “what does queen toriel like” and frowns. “I – y-yeah. Pies, too? She’s a, a pie person?”

“She’s kind of cornered the market on pies,” Undyne agrees.

“A-a cookbook? But _ugh,_ she’ll probably know all the recipes, she’s old enough…” She turns to Undyne, determined fire in her eyes. _“What do moms like?!”_

“I dunno, what does your mom like??” Undyne answers. “Small dogs? Things that smell good?”

“Th-things that smell good, right,” Alphys echoes.

They end up getting her a candle set. Moms and candles. It’s universal, right?

As they’re walking out of the mall into New Home’s bright, crowded streets, Undyne bumps Alphys with one of the bags she’s carrying. “Hey. You didn’t FORGET about anyone on that trip, did you??” She grins at Alphys and waggles her eyebrows.

“Did I – what? I could have sworn I have gifts for everyone now, what – “ Alphys panics, before Undyne nudges her again. She’s smiling, good-natured. “Relax, babe. I was joking about you getting something for _me.”_

“Oh!” Alphys snorts and shoves Undyne in the hip. “I-I’m not gonna get something _for_ you _with_ you, dummy!”

“Didn’t think so. Worth a shot,” Undyne laughs. Then after a beat, she asks, “But you do like – “

“Of c-course I have something for you. It was the f-first thing I bought this season,” says Alphys, and if she’s blushing a little bit or maybe a lot that’s nobody’s business but hers. “You’re going to, uh, I know you’re g-going to love it. At least, I think, I hope you will, I think I picked it out well, like I picked out the presents for our first d-d-date really good, but I never know, and…”

“Shhh,” Undyne says soothingly. “Shut up, nerd. I’m gonna love it, no matter what it is! I know you know that!”

“Ah, y-you’re right,” Alphys forces herself to believe, smiling shyly up at Undyne. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Anything from MY VERY OWN GIRLFRIEND is gonna blow everyone else’s presents out of the WATER!” Undyne swings their hands back and forth between them. “I know you that well, at least!”

“Yeah…” Alphys watches their swinging hands for a few seconds, marveling at their black and white mittens intertwined with each other and the warmth and love she can feel just _radiating_ off of her girlfriend. Undyne tries to be reassuring in a verbal sort of way, because she knows that’s how Alphys thinks and feels things, but her real strength is in this. Alphys loves her for it.

Alphys yanks their connected hands down on impulse, pulling Undyne close to her face, and kisses her soundly. “Thanks for all th-this,” she murmurs when they pull back. Undyne only replies by leaning in and kissing her again, smiling against her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goal for the next one is the 21st! first day of the festival, this is going up in Real Time For REals :>


	6. Hush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hush is like a deep breath before a song, a day where nothing but that anticipation for the future matters. It is the day to savor what is to come before launching into it, and a reassurance that the year will end out all right, after all. Once night falls on Hush, tradition holds to light up every rooftop and window, with candles, fire magic, or electric lights. The lights stay on all through the night, as all of monsterkind tries, and often fails, to sleep._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man i really like this one you guys... :>

**_Hush_ **

_The 21st of December, or the “winter solstice,” as it is called on the surface, begins the grand finale of Holiday – the twelve-day Festival of Souls, a riotous celebration carrying us through the dead of winter and the end of the old year. The name for this special night is Hush, and it is a period for quiet, dark, solemnity, and peace; as well as last-minute preparations for the Festival. You may see the lights in our windows going dark and our shops closing early today, as monsters head home to spend time with their families and tell stories or eat traditional food, but you may also see hassled monsters racing through town for that one last Festival gift._

_Hush is like a deep breath before a song, a day where nothing but that anticipation for the future matters. It is the day to savor what is to come before launching into it, and a reassurance that the year will end out all right, after all. Once night falls on Hush, tradition holds to light up every rooftop and window, with candles, fire magic, or electric lights. This tradition has seeped into the rest of Holiday, as well, explaining the “Christmas” lights you have probably seen on monster houses in the past months, but a full monster neighborhood on the night of Hush is an even more magnificent sight. The lights stay on all through the night, as all of monsterkind tries, and often fails, to sleep._

* * *

_He is real. He is real, Frisk, I swear._ They can’t tell any intonation in Chara’s brain-spirit-voice, but Frisk can feel a hint of a smile in their words. _Come on, would I lie to you about this?_

_10:58,_ glows the clock on their bedside table, helpfully.

So that means…what, they’ve been at this argument for an hour? That’s almost as long as they’d been actually trying to sleep before then. Wowie.

_… ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯,_ is the only thing they think-whisper back, because that’s the kind of thing you can do in a mental conversation.

_See? See! That’s not an argument! You admit it!_

(They didn’t admit anything.)

It’s the night of the 21st, the night before what everyone’s been saying is gonna blow their whole mind for a week and a half. They were underground for the one last year, but that one was different and not as fun cause they didn’t know anyone to celebrate it with, so it wasn’t as fun as it REALLY is, and just you wait Frisk, this year’s gonna be the best week and a half of your life. Even Chara is saying that sort of thing, which is weird. Like, Frisk knows they’re a monster-weeb (which is Flowey’s favorite word he made up) but, they’re also _Chara._ Chara’s default setting is Talking About Monsters, so that part’s not so much a surprise, but it’s how genuinely _excited_ they are. For _Frisk._ It’s a weird feeling. 

Tonight actually has a name, and not just a cop-out name like Festival Eve. It’s called Hush. Everyone (because everyone has been telling them all about monster holidays, even though by the time they hear it from anyone they’ve heard it from Chara twice already) says that it’s supposed to be a sort of calming comedown from the rest of the two-month Holiday, like a day of tranquility before the explosion of the Festival of Souls and the new year.

(Wow, you can really tell Asgore named all of this.)

It rarely works, says everyone. That’s okay. Nobody can ever sleep on Hush.

And now Chara is trying to convince them, for some reason, that Santa is real.

_Listen, Mx. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯, you know monsters!_ they are yelling now. (They don’t actually yell but they would be if they could.) _You’ve lived with monsters, we have lived with monsters (and I’ve lived with monsters more than you) – you don’t think ~~ou~~ their weirdness could extend to this?_

Chara almost calls themself a monster sometimes, and always scrambles to cover it up. Frisk doesn’t mind. (They feel like after enough reexposure to humanity, they’ll start calling themself a monster eventually. Better to be that than the alternative, and close enough to when Chara talks about “reclaiming” nasty words. They’re certainly close enough to be an honorary one, at least. They feel like Chara will follow suit when they know it’s okay.)

_I dunno,_ they whisper-think back. _He didn't happen last year._

_Lots of things didn’t happen last year._

_You like to trick me sometimes, it’s mean…_

_This is SANTA!!_

_…………………………….I guess???_

_…Okay, this is monster holiday stuff._

_That’s true._

Really, the fact that _Chara_ is trying to convince them that _Santa’s_ real is more convincing than anything they’ve said. Thought.

_Okay, listen._ If Frisk could hear Chara’s voice, they think it would probably sound _determined._ Or just fed up. _Just go out there, okay? Just go out and see if he left presents yet! Prove me wrong._

Oh damn. They don’t know…like, logically, they know that they can leave their bed, that’s a thing that’s allowed, but….

_It is okay. You will not get in trouble. Promise, come on._ Chara knows how very…very scary…getting in trouble is. They’re always – okay, usually – serious about This Sort Of Thing. Also, they’re pretty good at promises, which they’re always saying, even though Frisk is not pretty good at believing promises.

_Ugh FINE FINE FINE._ Frisk throws their covers into the air and scuffles out of bed. They’re careful not to accidentally disturb Flowey, who at least pretends that he sleeps, as they let Chara tiptoe them out the door.

_Don’t see why you’re freaking out so bad over this,_ Frisk complains as they sneak through the darkened apartment. The light of the tree shines from the living room, enough to light their way. _Santa and presents and stuff are for babies, right? It’s a baby thing and you’re bein’ a baby._

_NO!_ Chara retorts, with a blast of emotion that knocks Frisk back a step. _No, no, no, no, absolutely not! Nothing in that sentence you just said was right! Besides, I’m not the baby here. I just remembered I was_ taller _than you._

_Doesn’t mean nothin’, asshole._

They creep up behind the couch and scamper over it, so that the floor doesn’t creak, into the living room proper and into full sight of the tree, tall and glittering and beautiful anD AND AND AND _CHARA –_

Frisk’s hands are flapping before they can realize, and the springs of the couch squeak as they bounce ecstatically on their knees. _There’s!!! There’s there’s there’s!!!!!_ Boxes and bags and shiny paper and twirly bows and they weren’t there when they went to bed and they’ll be there when they wake up AND!! THERE ARE LABELS and CHARA CHARA they can see their _NAME!_ There’s a big one in blue paper and it’s so tall it’s brushing the tree’s lowest branches, there’s a squishy-looking green one with a bow that’s almost bigger than it, there’s a box with silver paper that sparkles as bright as diamond stars! Frisk wriggles down the couch and flops on the floor beside the tree, tilting the silver-paper-one back in forth in front of their vision, mesmerized, transfixed. It has their name on it. The wrapping paper has a label and it has _their name_ on it and they can see it, _they can see it, To Frisk From Santa._

_See?_ says Chara, all smug. _I told you I was right._

_Shush,_ Frisk replies, waving a hand as if to bat away Chara’s dumb ghost voice. _Shush shush shush._ The lights in the patterns dance and twirl as they tilt the box back and forth, _To Frisk,_ back, _From Santa,_ and forth. They want to hug the box to themself, they want to smuggle it back to their room and hide it under their bed, they want to crawl underneath with it and their phone flashlight and tilt it back and forth until the sun rises. But they don’t. They don’t have to. It’s _theirs._ It’s theirs, and it’s theirs, and it’ll be theirs tomorrow. _Right, Chara? Right right right??_

_Of course you are right,_ Chara responds. They are less smug now.

_He’s real. He’s real for monsters, of course he is! Of_ course _he is!!_ They’re flapping again, too full of joy to keep a hand on the box. They roll on their joyful back and bring their joyful hands close to their joyful face, so fast and fluid that their outside is almost as full of joy as their inside – and their inside almost as joyful as their outside, where the presents are, where the TREE is, where SANTA is!!

_Of course he’s real for monsters, Frisk,_ Chara echoes. _Of course he is._

_He’s not real for humans,_ Frisk explains, suddenly embarrassed by their earlier doubt.

_I know he is not,_ Chara responds, softly. Then: _you are very happy. You are too happy._

_What?_ Chara says Frisk’s emotions for them sometimes, which is helpful as hell cause it’s almost impossible to tell on their own, but they never say stuff like _too._ Are they over the top? Are they embarrassing Chara? Chara’s cooler than them, obviously, cause they’re older and know monsters and they’re better at talking, are they, did they – 

_No, no, slow down,_ murmurs Chara, still soft, still slow. They fish for words, to lay overtop of the Oh Big Thing Frisk can feel welling up inside them. _I was too happy too._

_Huh?_ People like telling Frisk that they don’t get implied stuff a lot. Usually Chara’s better about it, but the Oh Big Thing is still growing so Frisk tries not to be mad about it.

_You did not expect this,_ says Chara, simple and soft and just a statement of fact, just a beginning. _You did not expect Santa. You did not expect gifts. You have not had this before, have you?_

_………this…?_

This _meaning gifts, the tree, joy, celebration…family. Love._

_Oh._ Family. Love. Those are…yeah. Those words… _well,_ says Frisk. _They said if I was good I could get presents, and if I wanted normal stuff, but I guess I was never good. Cause I never, uh, got stuff._

_Everyone else said Santa’s real cause he gave me this, he brought me all this stuff,_ they continue, getting lost in the tide of feelings seeping up from the basement of their mind, _but he never brought me anything. So. He never brought me anything cause I wasn’t good. And I guess they said I_ couldn’t _be good._ They’re not good at explaining things. They never have been. It’s good that Chara shares their head sometimes. _Then someone said Santa wasn’t real, I think it was a grown-up, and they didn’t think I was listening but I was, and that was…easier, I guess. So Santa was for babies, not good kids, and I wasn’t a baby, and it didn’t matter if I was a good kid. As much. Not as much._

_Oh,_ says Chara. Sometimes they say that when they don’t know what to say next.

There’s a long silence. Frisk goes back to tilting the silver present.

_I think you are a good kid,_ Chara offers awkwardly.

_You’re Chara._ They struggle for words. _You’re like me. And you were too happy, too._

_No. You are good. You are very good. I know._ The words tumble out of them quickly, fervently. _I know, Frisk. Everyone else knows. You are very good._

Frisk keeps tilting the silvery present. They don’t have any response.

_Everyone knows that you are good, Frisk,_ Chara repeats. _I feel you wanting that. I feel you knowing that. Do you want to go back to bed?_

_Yeah,_ says Frisk, watching their reflection move in the silvery paper. They open their mouth and stick their tongue out, wiggling it from side to side. _No._

_I will wait until you are ready._

And it takes a while, maybe, but it takes. And Frisk squinches their eyes shut, imprints the silvery paper under the tree’s lights onto their eyelids, remembers that it’ll still be there in the morning. And they scramble back to bed, back into the little cocoon of heavy blankets and sweet warmth, of everything being right and simple, of the only way forward being soft.

_I got presents,_ they say absently to Chara, once they’re burrowed in nice and deep. _I got presents,_ with reverence and sleepy joy.

_You got presents,_ says Chara. They pause, and then admit, _it’s Asgore. He is Santa._

_Oh. It’s Asgore._ Frisk turns that over a bit. It doesn’t…doesn’t make anything worse. Actually, if it means…they know Santa. They know Santa’s favorite tea and how the depths of his beard smell. Santa’s realer than they ever knew. That’s even better. _Toriel let him in the house?_ they ask.

Chara giggles, caught off guard. _Apparently??_

Frisk rolls over, shushing Chara’s little chatter and trying to settle down into sleep. It’s there, softly at the edges of their eyes, and _the sooner they reach it the sooner it’s tomorrow._ But then _tomorrow_ comes into their mind, and the silvery present, and Toriel, their mother, and Santa, and everyone they love, and they want to flap again and bounce again and not sleep ever at all. _Tomorrow. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow._

_Chara,_ they whisper, after giving up a little bit and rolling back over. _Can’t sleep._

_That is alright,_ says Chara, their smile small and gentle. _No one can sleep on Hush._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really love writing both these characters, i know their personalities aren't revealed much in the other chapters they're in but they have a Very Rich Inner Life (Which I Made Up)
> 
> if you like them too my other fic (and entire soul) Risen Up is a solid 30% Frisk and Chara's brainvoices bouncing off each other
> 
> next chapter should go up tomorrow or the day after! :D


	7. The Festival of Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Most of all, monster children (and many adults!) can attest that the dominant emotion for Festival is joy. The days of Festival are removed from the rest of the year, surreal and strange, where the lights seem brighter, the songs seem more beautiful, and the nights are not so long and scary. This, the Festival of Souls, is truly monsterkind at is best._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone!! HA i should know better than to plan for things to happen around christmas. everything went a little haywire in the past week or so, but not in a bad way, just a real-life-holidays way. here's a nice big chapter though, from the point of view of a character i have no idea how to write, but adore beyond measure! this is actually my first time writing him, i hope i can do him justice! :>

**_The Festival of Souls_ **

_In the old days, each of the nine days of celebration for the Festival of Souls had their own names, like Hush, Stille on the 31st, and Soul’s Day on the first day of the new year, but those traditions have largely faded into the past. Instead, the Festival of Souls (or Festival, as it is commonly called) is a mishmash of traditions, feasts, and celebrations of all sorts. Some traditions are large, like the yearly feast at the castle to which all of monsterkind is unofficially invited, and some are small, like which days families give out the largest gifts or have the biggest parties._

_A tradition that monster children share with humans is that of waiting up to get presents from Santa Claus, who usually delivers presents during the night of Hush, depending on his busy schedule. Santa can also be spotted at shopping malls, on rooftops, and even around the castle as the season builds up. If you meet him, say hello! He bears a certain resemblance to our beloved monarch, as well as a shared sense of wonder and kindness. Perhaps they are cousins._

_Most of all, monster children (and many adults!) can attest that the dominant emotion for Festival is joy. The days of Festival are removed from the rest of the year, surreal and strange, where the lights seem brighter, the songs seem more beautiful, and the nights are not so long and scary. This, the Festival of Souls, is truly monsterkind at is best._

* * *

Papyrus LEAPS out of bed at six in the morning exactly, not one minute before nor one minute after! "RAISE YOUR SOUL!" he hollers to the world, caught up in the excitement of the moment, stretching his hands to the sky and arching his back. That’s when he remembers that _other people are still sleeping,_ oops, woops, a mistake on the part of the Great Papyrus. _“Raise your soul, raise your soul,”_ he whispers to himself, the rhythm of the Festival mantra both soothing and adrenalizing at once. He bounces on his tippiest toes, for the strength and for the glamor, and dashes into the hall on feet as slick as time.

Six is the latest in the morning he ever goes, because it’s the earliest in the morning Sans ever goes, and it’s been like that for as long as they can remember. Both of them up at six, and then both of them together, for presents and laughter and cheer, for the single break in their routine of days. He flies to Sans’s room and yanks the blankets away, in a far cry from the gentle awakening of Fallensnight. “RAISE YOUR SOUL!” he cries, and Sans is awake enough to mumble “raise y’r – “ before Papyrus swoops him up and hugs him.

“Brother!! The morning has finally arrived! You’ll be glad to know I spent nearly none of that time actually SLEEPING, but instead, preparing for what a day this surely will be!” he exclaims, dropping Sans back down on the mattress and grabbing his shoulders. “Now. I must be in charge of raising everyone from their sleep. Can I trust you to bring the music and the gifts up to the party, when it is time?”

“Hunh.” Sans blinks at him sleepily, eyes a little out of sync, first one flickering and then the other. “Jus’ woke up, bro. You can’t give me, uh, responsibility this early.”

“We discussed this last night, remember? Your phone is fully charged and tuned to the right station, and the gifts are stacked on the table. Do you need any more help getting it done than that?” Papyrus shakes Sans’s shoulders playfully. “Or are you just going to be lazy?? Today of all days, Sans!”

“Dunno if it’s really a _day_ yet,” Sans mumbles, but he’s smiling, in the way that means he’s really smiling, and he grabs Papyrus’s arms and pulls himself to his feet.

_“Wonderful!”_ Papyrus trills, then he knocks his skull against his brother’s in affection and catapults out the door.

The first stop on his joyous wassail is Undyne and Alphys’s apartment, up three floors but directly above theirs. He bounds up the stairwell and through the hallways as Sans pads behind, fiddling with his phone, until the excited strains of the old and trusted carols are bounding along beside him. He flings open the door to the apartment, always unlocked to the likes of him, and leaps inside, only to run directly straight smack into Undyne herself.

Undyne drops the stack of presents she’s holding with a huge CLATTER and a huger smile, smashing into him in a tackle-hug and dragging him into her living room. _“RAISE YOUR SOUL, NERD!!”_ she whoops, giving him a noogie before releasing him.

“Good morning, good morning! Raise your soul!” he cries, scuffling the floor with his joyful dancing feet. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sans creep in the still-open door and climb up onto the counter, setting the phone beside him and turning up the volume. Sans might not be able to appreciate today as loudly as Papyrus can, but he still is, and Papyrus knows he still loves it. That’s the important part.

Alphys stumbles and mumbles out to the kitchen, muttering, “Six? We said six? Y-you’re sure we s-said six? Y-yeah, okay, fine,” and dragging her tail on the floor. Sans waves at her from the counter, in an “I feel ya girl” kind of way, but doesn’t do anything except to start kicking his feet in rhythm with the music. Then the parade is flying out the door to Lady Toriel’s place, to the Queen’s place, to the place of his dearest dearest friends and comrades.

Toriel greets them at the door, already in her bathrobe and holding a cup of something steaming and rich. “Good morning, everyone,” she whispers, and Papyrus tones down his whole everything on instinct. (Sans whispers when he gets overwhelmed, and Papyrus knows it means for him to be less overwhelming.) “Frisk and Flowey are still sleeping,” she says, “and I will let you go in and wake them if you wish. However, Frisk sleeps like a log and will not respond if you call to them, and they very much dislike being touched to wake up. Instead, you can shake the headboard. Understood?” She looks a little anxious, at how Papyrus’s bare feet are still scuffle shuffling the hall carpet and how Undyne’s smile is big enough to eclipse her face, but when Papyrus nods she steps aside without hesitation.

Toriel’s apartment is large, larger than his, but still smaller than the castle or even the little house attached to it where Asgore used to live. She has the curtains open and looking out over the city, snowcapped and gray, and the tree in the corner is ringed around with gifts. The lights in the windows reflect off of the glittery paper, throwing speckles and sparks over the walls and the ceiling. It’s beautiful, wow, really, WOW, and how incredible must Holiday have been when she was with the king, when she was the one helping prepare the halls of the castle for the season!

“In there! Right?” Papyrus points to the door and asks, for something to say, he’s been here before, and he vaults over the couch without waiting for an answer and lands on his tiptoes before the door to Frisk’s room. He bounces softly as Sans cuts in front of him to enter music-first, something with piano and drums and fanfare, something that pushes his soul high and leaping. Flowey’s head jerks up at the sound, and he looks around, bleary and muzzy. “Time ‘s it…?” he grumbles. “Frisk’re you startin’ before everyone wakes up ya idiot…oh, _you’re_ here,” he frowns at Sans.

“HI, FLOWEY!” Papyrus bellows hopefully, from a foot outside of Flowey’s one-track line of sight. “RAISE YOUR SOUL!??!”

“Oh!” Flowey starts, and Papyrus is delighted to see he can’t keep the smile off his face, even as he tries to keep up his grumpy-grouch persona. “So, the whole six o’clock part was your idea? ‘Course it was.”

“It’s okay that you don’t want to say raise your soul back to me, Flowey,” Papyrus smiles, reaching out to pat Flowey on the head. He snarls and snaps, and Papyrus jumps back, laughing. “I will be saying it enough today for both of us! _Raise your soul, Papyrus!”_ he squeaks in a terrible imitation. 

“Oh, my god. Shut up. Just _wake Frisk up already!!”_

Papyrus prancedances over and gives the headboard a good shake. Frisk squeaks and springs up like a jack in the box. They see Papyrus and scramble to their feet, bouncing and swaying on the bed, and they’re _grinning,_ which is weird. He’s about to comment on it but then it becomes unweird again as they start jumping on the bed, up and down, flapping their arms and squeaking their bedsprings, and he settles back into Plan A. 

“GOOD MORNING, FRISK!! RAISE YOUR SOUL!!” he shouts, and holds his arms out wide, and Frisk does a SCREECH and an extra big bounce and catapults forward into his chest. He catches them tight to his chest before they wiggle down, bouncing to Sans and Flowey and everyone for a hug before spiraling back around, flapping to a rhythm that’s outrageous contagious! He finds himself stimming along, his feet skittering the floor so fast that he’s drifted up a few inches off the ground, how he knows he does when he’s excited. 

Only then Frisk races for the door and for Toriel and everyone else, forgetting Flowey in their excitement. Flowey yells after them, a “HEY, TWERP – “ he has to know they won’t hear, before Papyrus scoops him up and tucks him under an arm. “Good Festival so far, Flowey?”

Flowey snorts and does a weird wiggly thing that’s probably supposed to be a shrug. “Seriously? I can’t say until after this party. It’s the only thing Frisk’s talked about since we planned it the day after Hush.” He snickers and rolls his eyes. “I thought they were gonna explode when Toriel suggested that they hold off on presents until today, but they’re taking it shockingly well.”

“Well, they know the presents will still be there for the party, don’t they?” says Papyrus, reasonably, even though he knows he’s one to talk about impatience. It felt like he HAD exploded in the days of Festival leading up to today, continuously, painfully, extremely uncoolly, and MAYBE he hasn’t slept since before Hush. Oops.

The crew crowds out and into Asgore’s apartment, just across the hall from Toriel’s, Frisk bounding ahead like a puppy and signing _presents presents presents presents_ over and over. Undyne and Toriel bring up the rear, the physically strongest by the longest of shots, hidden behind stacks of presents Papyrus has to pull Flowey’s vines away from THREE times. It’s only a near miss once, and that’s only a miss because Alphys trotted up to Undyne just in time and Flowey accidentally smacked her in the face. Asgore welcomes them all in with tea and cookies, because “it is Festival, and surely cookies for breakfast during Festival cannot hurt?” He holds the door for Undyne and Toriel instead of offering to take the presents, which Papyrus knows at least Undyne appreciates. But then he stops knowing and caring and maybe okay MAYBE he drops Flowey a little bit, because standing there in Asgore’s living room is the TREE TO END ALL TREES.

“Did you get this from Snowdin?!” he exclaims, rushing over to inhale the heady scent of pine. Flowey pops up in one of the indoor window boxes and twines a vine appreciatively through the branches, snickering gently as a few ornaments drop to the floor. 

“Dear, please be careful – I don’t want to trip over you – “ Asgore steps gently around Frisk as they cling to him like a barnacle, bouncing and stumbling in place as he moves. He sighs fondly, goes “oh, alright,” and picks them up to ride on his shoulders. Frisk grabs onto his horn as he turns back to Papyrus, pulling faces and making bunny ears with one hand. “I did, in fact,” Asgore responds proudly, oblivious to the antics of the little human above. “I had been planning to carry on that tradition even on the surface since long before you were born!”

“You’re probably correct!” Papyrus chirps. “Now that – ah…” He stands on his tiptoes, counting all the heads he can see, straining to see over Frisk for a glimpse of a chance of a shiny metal-plated hope. “Is, er, everyone here? I hate to sound impatient, but, er – “

“Can we START ALREADY!?” Flowey yells, bursting from the tree. “It’s a PRESENTS party! Not a STAND-AND-TALK party, we’re not ALL boring grownups here!!”

That’s not what Papyrus was going to ask, but it answers his question anyway, because Asgore goes “oh, yes, of course! Mettaton is charging in the kitchen due to the early morning, and I believe Napstablook is waiting with him. Alphys, if you’d be a dear – “

“I COULD! I mean!” Papyrus cuts off the King Of All Monsters but he only has a few seconds to be embarrassed about that because his mouth is still going and the party’s still on. “I could go fetch the others! In the kitchen! Your majesty! And gather us all together! Your majesty sir!”

“That would be lovely, Papyrus,” smiles the king, but before he can finish Papyrus blows past him to his duty, on feet as light as space, light as wonder, light as joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am a little insecure about my papyrus voice, in all honesty. i know it doesn't mimic the patterns of his dialogue a whole lot but that voice is HARD to get down! he's wonderful and i really want to write him more, so i'll start here. hopefully it captures the essence of a wonderful boy at his most excited!
> 
> i really am going to finish this before the new year, i have A Plan, you know it's good cause it has capital letters in the author's note. next chapter goes up tomorrow! (nope, later today. i just really wanted to get this chapter up before i slept :> )


	8. Festival Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Through the Festival of Souls, celebrations and performances fill the capital to the brim. The castle is the hub for many of these festivities, which we have learned has come as a surprise to many humans. Our castle is far larger than just the space needed for housing the royal family and administrating to the needs of the kingdom, after all, but why have this extra space if not for public celebrations like this?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Routine Acknowledgement Of Lateness And Requisite Apology! enjoy!! :D

**_Festival Feast_ **

_Through the Festival of Souls, celebrations and performances fill the capital to the brim. The castle is the hub for many of these festivities, which we have learned has come as a surprise to many humans. Our castle is far larger than just the space needed for housing the royal family and administrating to the needs of the kingdom, after all, but why have this extra space if not for public celebrations like this?_

_The Festival Feast, coordinated and served by King Asgore himself, is the crowning jewel of the Festival, if we do say so ourselves! Months beforehand, King Asgore and his advisors assemble a volunteer team of cooks from all over the underground, bringing specialized culinary delights from every region as well as simple, universal comfort foods. Anyone who wishes to attend is invited, and every door is open!_

* * *

_We’ve come so far,_ thinks Asgore proudly, gazing out over his congregated kingdom. The sun above is bright and glaring, and snow lies in heaps around carefully cleared pathways through it. The wind is biting in the way he has learned that it only can on cloudless days like this, and he is quite certain his tail is frozen to his seat. But all of those are no matter, and they are only wisps at the edges of his contemplation, because here is his kingdom, here are his people. Today, the day of the feast, later in the Festival than usual but no less joyful for it, they are all together under the same, blessed sky.

The feast tables have been brought up from the castle, thanks to the muscles of many strong monsters, and fill the empty lot beside the apartment building. The lot is small and the monsters are many, so the festivities spill out into the street on either side, closed off and luckily not heavily traveled. Scrubby, tenacious plants poke up from the cracks in the concrete, and monsters have stretched blankets and quilts across particularly icy patches to provide traction. The crowd chatters peacefully, biding its time until the stragglers and latecomers have made their way out and the feast can officially begin. 

The feast – ah, the yearly feast, the crowning jewel of the Festival season, if he does say so himself! – has been a tradition at the castle since shortly after the war, as the holidays were beginning to settle into a pattern and the monsters still needed an event to help unify them and their connection with the crown. Helping to cook, coordinating the volunteer chefs, making sure everything is prepared correctly and sending it by magic out to the tables is always an immense stress to get done right, and a delight when they do. It feels like a proud accomplishment every year, even though it has only gone wrong a few times. One time, and he chuckles to remember, Asriel had been young, and come down with a common childhood illness for a few days. It had wreaked havoc on his already unpredictable developing magic, resulting in chaos in the kitchen and no small amount of guilt from the poor boy…

Asgore shakes his head. But now is not time for the past, much as he might have trouble holding to that. Now, he nudges Undyne, sitting to his right side and as breathtaking as a daughter in her royal formal armor, and nods once. She grins, nudges him back, and leaps to her feet.

“ATTENTION, MONSTERKIND!” she bellows to the crowd, firing a few spears in the air for emphasis. When all attention has turned to her, she beams and waves her hand, dispelling the spears before they have a chance to fall. “WELCOME, ONE AND ALL, TO THE FIRST ANNUAL FESTIVAL FEAST, ON THE SURFACE!!!” Asgore is still a little embarrassed about this name, but he has always felt that names should describe what they intend to stand for and no less, and besides, it truly was his best effort. A cheer goes up from the crowd, and Asgore reaches into his magic, finds the food stacked in precarious piles of dishes and pans in the apartment’s lobby, and brings it up. Short-range teleportation is among his abilities, although he likes to save it for special occasions like this. 

“Is your girlfriend planning to attend, Undyne?” he asks as he helps himself to potatoes and passes the bowl to her. She takes it, hisses, and nearly drops it before managing to settle it on the table. “Ow! Asgore! It’s hot!”

“Oh, I am dreadfully sorry! Are you alright?” He takes Undyne’s hands, turning them over to examine them for blisters. “I truly am sorry, Undyne. I am becoming a forgetful old man in my age. I did not think I would ever forget that the fire inside Boss Monsters is not present in everyone else, and you are not immune to the heat. I did not know how hot the dish would be for you. Were you burned too badly?”

She yanks her hands away and rolls her eyes. “Pfff, I’ve had worse. You don’t even need to heal me. And Alphys is coming soon, yeah! She just wanted to finish up some nerdy thing she was working on. I think it was for Mettaton?”

“Yes, of course,” says Asgore. “His big Festival performance is tomorrow, isn’t it? I am quite looking forward to it. Do tell him that I’ll be there!”

“Yeah, I’ll pass on the message,” Undyne replies with a snort. “Should I also tell him that he’s got a secret fan in the KING of all MONSTERS??”

“Oh, no, no, no, that won’t be necessary!” Asgore laughs. “He already knows that I appreciate what he’s done for monsterkind a great deal. And after your remark at high volume there, I doubt I can be counted as a ‘secret’ fan anymore.”

“Heh. Sorry.” Undyne reaches over him for the salamander fry and piles it onto her plate. “Alphys hates even looking at these things, so I gotta get my fill before she shows up.”

The two of them eat peaceably until Alphys stumbles out of the apartment building, glasses askew and coat halfway pulled on. Undyne coughs and slurps a whole salamander into her mouth, swallowing it just in time to give Alphys a big toothy grin. She waves and pats the bench beside her, hard enough that Asgore’s seat quakes with the tremors. “Hey babe! Saved you a seat!” 

“Th-thank you, I, uh – “ Alphys tries to climb over the bench, but cannot get her leg all the way up over it and scrabbles on her stomach until Undyne gives her a boost. “I should’ve h-had Mettaton’s system update ready by, uh, yesterday for the party, but things came up and stuff kept happening and, and he really needed it for tomorrow’s performance, so – “

“It is fine, Alphys! I am glad that you could make it,” Asgore says. “Raise your soul!”

“R-raise your soul, King Asgore!” Alphys chirps. “Now, I, uh, if you d-don’t mind, my m-metabolism – uh, I’m ecto – ectothermic – “

“Go ahead and start eating, Al!” Undyne says, slinging an arm around Alphys’s shoulders and pulling her close. “Get as much food inside you as you can before you FREEZE SOLID!”

Alphys dives in, and Undyne refills her plate for the second time and follows suit. Asgore smiles and leans back, before realizing that he does not have a chair with a back and struggling upright again. His dignity recovered, he relaxes as far as he can and watches a baby Snowbird hop along the table in front of its mothers. It is only a few months old, not yet old enough to learn its own gender, but he had seen the mothers walking with it around New Home and stopped to say hello once or twice. Its name is…something like Fable or Fabliet, one of the two. 

Across from it, Frisk sits enamored, hands clasped in front of them and plate empty and forgotten. They reach out to touch it, then jerk back when it swivels its head up and pecks lightly at their finger, as Flowey snickers and pulls faces from his pot. Sitting beside them, Toriel asks something of the mothers, who nod and urge the little one forward. Soon it is sitting in Frisk’s cupped hand, Toriel helping them to pet it with the right amount of gentleness.

Just a few tables down, Mettaton has acquired a large crowd of followers around him. Monsters are pressed several people deep on either side of him, but a space just around him is almost reverently cleared… On second thought, it may be reverence, or it may be how he swivels around as he speaks, and how he has very sharp shoulder pads. Buried in the throng are Papyrus, looking as thrilled to be there as any other fan, and Sans, looking as though he had gotten there before Mettaton and is feeling mildly inconvenienced about the whole situation.

Alphys and Undyne chatter happily beside him, blending in with the chatter of the rest of his kingdom, lively and fuller with laughter than he can ever remember hearing. _We’ve come so far,_ he thinks again, with more wonder and meaning than before, the phrase both heavy and light with the weight of the _we_ who has come. As he watches Frisk and Toriel play with the Snowbird, Sans distract and annoy his brother, and Undyne blow on her girlfriend’s shivering hands to warm them, perhaps a tear comes to his eye. 

Perhaps it is warranted, and perhaps it is silly, on such an occasion as this. He does not wipe it away but leaves it, not to freeze, but to stay, warm and close. The wind is fierce and biting and the frozen pavement stings his toes, but the king of all monsters is not cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its Still Christmas In My Heart
> 
> i do love asgore :'>


	9. Performance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Festival celebrates monster pride and unity among monsterkind, and as such is full of our most cherished art forms. Music can be heard from every street corner, with sources from children’s caroling groups to buskers to monster radio. The time in and around Festival is sometimes informally known as performance season for this very reason. Concerts, recitals, opening nights, and competitions are so thick in this period that they often must be stacked, and cause a great deal of both stress and pride for the artistically minded. Some performances are informal, such as bands that play impromptu sets on the castle steps, while some are prestigious, like the annual Rising Star composition contest and the shows put on by idols like Mettaton in the auditoriums and theaters of the castle. Many are free, or at the least very affordable, and have been part of monster family traditions for generations._

**_Performance_ **

_The Festival celebrates monster pride and unity among monsterkind, and as such is full of our most cherished art forms. Music can be heard from every street corner, with sources from children’s caroling groups to buskers to monster radio. Lights and decorations are inspired by common or favorite attacks, and specialized bullet patterns often accompany cards and gifts. It is thought that the role of fire in Holiday stems from the fiery magic of royalty, and that attacks like this were used to light up the night on the surface before the war._

_The time in and around Festival is sometimes informally known as performance season for this very reason. Concerts, recitals, opening nights, and competitions are so thick in this period that they often must be stacked, and cause a great deal of both stress and pride for the artistically minded. Some performances are informal, such as bands that play impromptu sets on the castle steps, while some are prestigious, like the annual Rising Star composition contest and the shows put on by idols like Mettaton in the auditoriums and theaters of the castle. Many are free, or at the least very affordable, and have been part of monster family traditions for generations._

* * *

_The fact that they’re part of my own body,_ Mettaton frowns, bracing himself against a wall as he struggles to pull his genuine authentic red pleather boots onto his state-of-the-art titanium chrome _stupid_ high-heeled _feet, means that they should NOT make trying to accessorize this difficult._

The boot slides onto his foot with a _thup_ and he _doesn’t_ stumble and wave his arms around, not even a little bit, he’s too coordinated and winsome for something as ungainly as that. He sighs and reaches for the other one. It’s something like three minutes to showtime, which used to seem small and terrifying when he was a less experienced showman, but he now knows is more than plenty of time. It’s at least enough to let the first song of today’s performance blast over the speakers in his dressing room one more time, and _that_ is what really matters here. Not the fact that the hat he ordered came trimmed with _cotton_ fluff instead of _polyester,_ or how he’s going to have to pull his charger out of the wall twenty minutes before full charge. Something about this song…it just _speaks_ to him, on a level that is musically and dramatically profound. Old, and human-y, and weird as it is.

He finishes suiting up, luckily with no more undue difficulty than always comes before first performances, and meets his manager Liolex, a lion monster he’d met in Hotland after a show with Frisk, in the hallway. She’s looking lovely today, in a red dress trimmed with white to match Mettaton’s own ensemble, her mane pulled back and braided close to her head. “Are you nervous, sir?” she asks as they walk – well, _stride_ – out to the stage.

“Of _course_ not, my darling! Just double check that the cameras are all set up before I go on, will you? You know how I _hate_ having to do second takes.” Mettaton gives her a smile and a wink and enters gracefully through stage left, his newly extended heels clacking beautifully on the polished hardwood. 

Alphys’s gift of a system update came with a shiny new balance enhancer, so he can wear these special boots with the two-inches-higher heels today for every song in the lineup. He can feel it working, making tiny adjustments to his gait and posture with every step he takes, and he feels as if he could walk a tightrope with it. In these _heels,_ no less! She’ll be out there, of course, on the other side of the curtain in the castle’s most _decadent_ auditorium, in the box he had the forethought to reserve for her instead of throwing money at its ticketholders until they handed it over. She’ll be watching his show, not to mention King Asgore, Lady/Queen/Person Who Does Important Things??? Toriel, that handsome Ambassador Papyrus, whatever Frisk is, and the vast numbers of his adoring fans. His friends, as well as his family. But can he be blamed, really, for lying to Liolex about his nervousness?

Of course not. It would taint his image something _fierce,_ to be known as a monster who _isn’t_ suave, cool, and beautiful at every moment of his existence. He’s much too much of a universally adored _idol_ to get publicly twisted up about little things like first performance jitters! And besides, he knows his crew looks to him as a measure. If _he_ isn’t nervous, then they have nothing to worry about.

Mettaton shifts from foot to foot as the musicians begin to tune up their instruments, feeling the balance enhancer calibrate and trying to quickly integrate it with his choreography. The truth is, unfortunately, that just because he is in his element on the stage, before the lights and the thunderous adulations of the crowd, doesn’t mean that these performances aren’t stressful as _hell_ to pull off. He runs through the arrangement one more time in his head, going over the times he has to kick and twirl and fire magical backup dancers that look like his box form holding umbrellas from out of his soul. He _truly_ is excited for this song, though, persistent of an earworm as it’s been since he first began rehearsing this piece. Even though it’s human, and from something like the time of the royal children, ancient and usually unattractive as that era is. It has its gems, for sure, and this is one of them, even if it has to say _Christmas_ instead of _Festival._ His audience will surely know what he means. They’re not _that_ dense.

The curtains rise, and he spreads his arms wide to the cheering crowd, striding out to the center of the stage and giving them his trademark spectacular Metta-Grin™. His song fades in, a few chiming notes on a sparkly red xylophone, before the rush of cymbals that is his cue to finally begin.

_“I-I-IIII…,”_ he sings, feeling the rush as air moves smoothly through this form’s throat. _“Don’t want a lot fo-o-or Christmas…_  
 _The-eee-ere is just one thing I need…_  
 _I don’t care about the presents_  
 _Underneath the Christmas tree…_  
 _I just want you for my own,_  
 _More than you could ever know,_  
 _Make my wish come truuuuuu-uuuee-ee…”_

He smiles, resting his hands on his hips, finishing out the high note with precision and grace. _“Oooaaaaaall I want for Christmas…i-ii-iii-iiiis….yooo-ooo-ooo-ooouu!”_

He launches into his dance, half carefully planned and half improvisation. The choreography is more notes to self than rules, just how he likes it. After all, what is the point of a dance like this, if he isn't able to _dance_ to this masterpiece of a Holiday song? 

_“I don’t want a lot for Christmas,_  
 _There is just one thing I need!_  
 _And I, don’t care about the presents_  
 _Underneath the Christmas tree!”_ he warbles, pointing out to the audience, making sure every member feels like maybe, just _maybe,_ they could be the lucky object of his affections. The stage lights above him switch from red to white to red again, on beat with the rhythm of the song, and Mettaton times his leaps and magical displays along with them. Magical constructs like these, such as the line of lightning bolts dancing around the stage like Festival lights and the outlined pairs of legs that jump and kick like line dancers in synchronicity with his, are of the utmost importance for making any dance routine just _pop._ If this were a musical _fight,_ like his record-breaking, ratings-blasting one with Frisk in Hotland, he would send out the magic in actual _attacks,_ which his competent opponent would parry and dodge to the beat. But as this is a single-player dance, he lets his constructs fan out around him on the stage instead.

_“I don’t want a lot for Christmas,_  
 _This is all I’m askin’ for:_  
 _I just wanna see my baby_  
 _Standing right outside my door!”_ He sends out tiny versions of himself, an attack he calls the Metta-Mini™, template now for sale for only 120 g online and in his gift stores, into a line behind him, dismissing the legs and letting them follow his movements instead. They move with the parts of the backup singers in a perfect complement, not overshadowing himself, of course, but adding _pizzazz_ and _flair_ to his movements! 

_“I just want you for my own,_  
 _More than you could ever know!_  
 _Make my wish come true:_  
 _Baby, all I want for Christmas iii-ii-iiis – “_ He executes a pirouette, a back handspring, and a Suzy inverted construct twist, landing him right at the front of the stage and the center of attention, and throws his very soul into the last high note. _“Yoooooooooooouuu!”_

The song finishes and fades out, and a roar of applause nearly knocks Mettaton back a step. He raises his arms and basks in it, his rightfully deserved reward, the unending adoration of his beloved fans! Surely they were _blown away_ by his performance, _stellar_ as always despite his own nerves. He takes bow after bow, beaming into the stage lights and out to the sea of faces, absolutely thrilled. Now, now that the first song is over, and his nerves are only so much elated adrenaline, now that everyone _loves_ him enough to work themselves up into such a frenzy, the show can _truly_ begin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next one happening (probably late) on new year's eve! bet you can't guess whose pov it'll be in :>


	10. Stille

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The 31st of December, the last day of the year, is known as Stille. Stille can be compared to a calmer, quieter Hush, more for contemplation and reflection than mad anticipation. There are celebrations there were not on Hush, such as candlelight rituals, storytelling, and caroling. Stille is a transition in many ways: from one year to the next, from the past to the future, from the strange and surreal time of the Festival to the return to normal life ahead. Stille is a time to let go of everything in the past and let the future be the future, making for a sleepy, contented, in-the-moment end to the year._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year, everyone

**_Stille_ **

_The 31st of December, the last day of the year, is known as Stille. Stille can be compared to a calmer, quieter Hush, more for contemplation and reflection than mad anticipation. There are celebrations there were not on Hush, such as candlelight rituals, storytelling, and caroling. Stille is a transition in many ways: from one year to the next, from the past to the future, from the strange and surreal time of the Festival to the return to normal life ahead. Stille is a time to let go of everything in the past and let the future be the future, making for a sleepy, contented, in-the-moment end to the year._

_Monsters may stay awake until midnight to celebrate the new year, but unlike humans, these celebrations are not riotous and joyful. Instead, they are slow, quiet, and solemn, reflected in the carols they sing and the way the end of the year is nearly always spent close to silence. January the first, called Soul’s Day, is also part of the Festival and still celebrated, but it is not nearly so festive (or intense) as the rest. Not to worry, residents of our fair and shared city. Soon, monsters will return to our relatively normal lives, as will you. Only now we both will have new friends, new memories, and a new understanding of what makes all of us into what we are._

* * *

_Stille, stille, stille…_

There is caroling outside, in the night. The fireplace crackles and hisses and outside the carolers sing.

Chara can hear it. Frisk cannot. It is Chara’s job to notice things like this.

_Stille, stille, stille…_

It is not an old favorite, but a new one. They had not seen the appeal of the slow songs, back then, when they had their own ears to hear. It is an old song, older than they, older than everything they will ever know, but a new favorite. Simple, slow, soft, and still.

Chara blinks sleepily and shifts on Toriel’s lap, their gaze frozen and drifted out of focus, staring out to the darkened apartment at nothing in particular. They are tired, and they feel quite sure that all that they can see is the world, and the soft caroling is the only way to mark that time exists at all. Frisk is only a little awake, enough to help them shift, enough to keep their eyes open and staring and remembering to blink. Flowey snuggles on their chest in coils of vine, face ducked into their shoulder and pot tucked into the cushion by their legs. They had climbed onto Toriel’s lap for a Holiday story, _they_ meaning Frisk and everyone else who that had to entail, but that had been…many, many carols ago…and now, here they are, all of them drifting in the time before sleep. Here they stay.

The world is a type of stillness they can feel, touch, hold gingerly inside of their mind. It is a type of stillness that would not be still without the gentle motion of the carolers’ song, of Toriel’s soul thrumming deep and slow in her chest beneath them, to mark the present from the past and future. What came before is a memory, what comes after is an abstraction, but what is coming to them now is music and a series of moments. The present is this note, this chord, this sound. The present is the warmth in their hands and the firelight reflecting on the window.

Have they felt, they wonder, as the carolers move into something that rocks in the air like a boat on calm waters, this stillness, this oneness, this…oh, they cannot find a word, but that is alright. Now is not for saying things, now is for feeling things. Have they felt this… _at peace,_ since they woke up on the golden flowers inside another person, those many months ago? Has the present been as present, and have they been as wholly _present_ within it? They have just been…the two of them, and _all_ of them, going and going and going for a long time. Frisk does not stop. Frisk is very good at knowing how not to stop, and overriding the rules of the universe with how well they do it. It has been good, and thrilling, and joyous, and bad, and terrifying, and furious, and has it been peaceful? Of course it has not. But Frisk has slowed, taught themself and learned, and now…this is quiet. Everything is still, final and sweet, inside of them and out. They can hear their heart beating, at exactly the same slow rhythm that it needs to be.

Last year at this time, Frisk did not know to stop. Festival was snatches of warmth when they could find it, stories they heard for the first and thousandth time at the feet of the librarian, and moving, moving, always moving. Moving contacts in their phone, moving food through their pockets, their growing feet in moving, muddied shoes. A few nights in Snowdin, some in the house of the skeletons, on the lumpy downstairs couch with the knitted blanket that smells like dog fur. But even then, always moving, moving through sleep or through songs or jokes or meals or reruns on TV, moving from days to months to the new year. The year before that, they had…well. 

They were about to think, they had whispered the seconds to midnight with the king and queen as Asriel fell asleep on the couch, only to awake six hours later full of rage at having missed the big moment, but truly, they were not around for _the year before that._ Everything – and that means _monsters,_ and _Holiday,_ and _Chara,_ and _everything,_ is different from the everything that they had almost grown used to. They have received gifts like chocolate and knickknacks and dresses with tulle that spins around their legs, and they have given gifts like handmade crafts and their love. They have gone sledding, so fast their face went numb, beat and been beaten at racing. They have eaten some of the foods they had loved with a singular passion at Festival feasts in the past, and fought with Frisk about things like texture over the others. They cheered and whooped at Mettaton’s performance, they woke up at six for the party that lasted into the night. They are on the surface. They are on Toriel’s lap, the lap of one who calls herself _their mother,_ and they are loved.

Or rather… Chara blinks again, harder than before. Their eyes are dry and sticky, and sting a little around the edges. _Frisk,_ they know, is loved.

Something jerks and shakes itself inside of them, and their fingers uncurl and their body shifts as another being snuffles awake. _Shut up,_ says Frisk crossly, speak of the devil themself. _I heard you bein’ sad. They love you much as me, dummy._

_You cannot reasonably say that, Frisk,_ murmurs Chara. _Most of them have never known me._

_They love me, you know, and they’d love you for all the same reasons._

_Hm._ Chara knows Frisk does not like it when they only have this sort of thing in response. They say it anyway, and go back to being quiet, being still. Frisk turns over their hands, looking at the uneven scar tissue raised on their palms like calluses, the freckles and moles splattered like wet paint on a soft brown canvas. Chara’s own fingers were long, but now the fingers that their body has are short and fat, with rough, blocky nails. One finger strokes down a length of Flowey vine, lifts it in their hand, plays with it as it subconsciously curls around their wrist like a prehensile tail.

_They deserve to know, you know._ Maybe Frisk says this. Maybe Chara. The thought is there, in their mind.

_What?_ Chara asks it, caught off guard. There is a somber tone to the thought that is not often present.

_Toriel. Asgore. Everyone. They miss you._ That’s Frisk, this time. As far as they can tell.

Chara closes Frisk’s eyes and lets out a breath. _I will tell them that I am with you, when I am ready. Not before._

_Chara. It needs to be official. You’re ready._ Frisk opens their eyes again. _You’re ready._

_Do not push me into this,_ Chara warns. _This is too important for your impulsiveness to interfere with._

_I’m not doing that._ When Chara doesn’t respond, Frisk does the mental equivalent of poking them in the side for being dumb. _Ask yourself, Chara, ask yourself and see. You’re ready._ I’m _not doing anything._

Chara is quiet for a very long time after that.

They have been told they are very good at it.

The next thing that they can find in themself to say, when Frisk has fallen silent and the carolers have begun a crooning lullaby, comes out small and disjointed, but no less strong for it. _We belong here._

_Whrff,_ says Frisk, and twitches. _Hm?_

_Were you almost asleep again?_ Chara asks, with fond annoyance. _After that whole conversation?_

_No. Maybe._ Frisk snuffles again. _Yeah._

_We do, though. Don’t we, Frisk. We do._

_I mean._ Frisk thinks on it. Chara gives them time to think. _We do,_ they answer eventually. _More than anywhere else._

_I know. I think so too._

_We do deserve this. We deserve to have this._

_We do. We have done…Frisk, we have done the impossible, haven’t we?_

The carolers have long since left. Across the room, just out of their sight, the grandfather clock begins to sound.

_We won,_ Chara continues, marveling over it. _We won, Frisk! We did it. We have Holiday now, we have the surface and monsters and each other and_ our family – _we won. We beat the world. We have won the prize._

_Yeah, and –_

_I want this._ Chara cannot stop now. They do not see how they could have stopped before. _I want this forever. I never want this to end. I never want any of this to end. I belong to this. We belong to this._ They know, and they know, and they know, and they know.

_…When?_ asks Frisk.

_When what?_ Sometimes it’s hard to follow the little weirdo’s train of thought.

_When will you tell._

Oh. _Oh. I do not…know. Not yet._

_That’s okay._

The clock has finished chiming, twelve tones later. The fire has died to embers. Chara is not sure they could move if they wanted to. They are here, they are now, they are _this._

_Happy Holiday, Chara,_ murmurs Frisk, back on the verge of sleep. _Raise your soul._

_Raise your soul, Frisk._

But Frisk does not respond, and Chara feels the strange swoop that means they have fallen asleep in earnest a few minutes later. They smile slowly and broadly, a rare and savored expression on this face, and turn their face in to Toriel’s broad and eternal chest. _Goodnight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was so much fun to plan, and i'm way proud of myself for finishing it. hope you liked the final installment!
> 
> my other big lovely undertale fic, Risen Up, is still in progress, and will be for quite a while, if you liked this and you'd like to follow that one as well! it begins about 3 months after this story, in the same universe, following frisk and chara and weird stuff and musicals. i would hyperlink it but boy i am tired and the html code for hyperlinks stresses me out irrationally (it's on my profile!)
> 
> if you'd like to come hang out and see what else i populate my life with, or talk about undertale at Literally Any Time Just Go For It I Love This Game I Love You And I Have So Many Thoughts, my tumblr is riverpersonn.tumblr.com! i'm always looking for new friends :>
> 
> i hope everyone had a lovely winter holiday season, and that 2018 is as kind to us as we deserve. which is very. we deserve to have a very kind year. here's hope, and love, going forward out of the stillness.

**Author's Note:**

> first chapter's a little sad, but dw, the rest of it won't be like that! mostly. no promises. but this is mostly sweet dw. hoping to get the next chapter up at the end of the month!


End file.
